f 


PAMELA     POUNCE 

AGNES  AND  EGERTON  CASTLE 


By 
AGNES  &  EGERTON  CASTLE 

Pamela  Pounce 

John  Seneschal's  Margaret 

New  Wine 

Minniglen 

Wolf-Lure 

Rose  of  the  World 

The  Secret  Orchard 

If  Youth  But  Knew 

Wroth 
The  Star  Dreamer 

Panther's  Cub 

Diamond  Cut  Paste 

The  'Pride  of  Jennico 

My  Merry  Rockhurst 

The  Composer 
Flower  of  the  Orange 

The  Bath  Comedy- 
Incomparable  Bellairs 
The  Heart  of  Lady  Anne 
The  Lure  of  Life 
The  Haunted  Heart 
Our  Sentimental  Garden 
The  Hope  of  the  House 
Wind's  Will 


By  EGERTON  CASTLE 

Young  April 
The  Light  of  Scarthey 

Consequences 

Marshfield  the  Observer 

The  House  of  Romance 

Schools  and  Masters  of  Fence 

English  Book-Plates 

The  Jerningham  Letters 

Le  Roman  du  Prince  Othon 


T  i960 


PAMELA  POUNCE 

A  TALE  OF  TEMPESTUOUS  PETTICOATS 

BY 
AGNES  AND  EGERTON  CASTLE 

AUTHORS  OF  "THE  PRIDE  OF  JENNICO,"   "THE 

INCOMPARABLE    BELLAIRS,"     "jOU.V 

SENESCHAL'S  MARGARET,"  ETC. 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  MCMXXI 


COPYRIGHT,    1921,   BT 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


PRINTED   Il»  THB  UMITID   STATES   OF  AMERICA 


tttf 

URL 

--/  *.  '2    ,O 


PREFACE 

THEEE  can  be  no  doubt  that  shedding  her  petticoats, 
a  woman  has  shed  much,  if  not  all  of  her  femininity,  till 
she  is  now  merely  a  person  of  an  opposite  sex.  She  is  a 
female,  for  nothing  will  ever  make  her  a  man,  but  Woman 
(with  a  capital  W),  Woman  with  her  charm,  her  elusive- 
ness,  her  mystery,  her  reserves,  her  virginal  withdrawals, 
her  exquisite  yieldings — she  is  that  no  longer. 

How  much  of  her  queenship  has  she  not  given  up  with 
her  petticoats? 

At  no  time  was  Woman  more  thoroughly  feminine,  more 
absolutely  mistress  of  her  own  fascinations  and  of  the 
hearts  of  men,  than  in  the  eighteenth  century,  preferably 
the  latter  half. 

That  was  a  time  when  it  may  be  said  that  no  woman 
could  look  ugly,  that  beauty  became  irresistible.  Take 
the  period  consecrated  by  the  art  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds 
and  of  Romney ;  take  the  picture  of  the  Parson's  Daugh- 
ter by  the  latter  artist,  that  little  face,  so  piquant,  inno- 
cent, fresh,  sly,  mischievous,  is  nothing  at  all  without 
its  cloud  of  powdered  curls  but  a  very  ordinary  visage, 
almost  common,  indeed,  with  its  distinctive  coiffure, 
framing,  softening,  etherealizing,  giving  depth  to  the  eyes 
and  allurement  to  the  smile.  How  irresistibly  delicious! 
How  irresistibly  delicious,  too,  is  the  mode  which  exposes 
the  young  throat  so  modestly  between  the  soft  folds  of 
the  muslin  kerchief. 

Youth,  then,  even  without  much  beauty,  is  served  to 
perfection  by  the  taste  of  the  period.  What  of  beauty 


PREFACE 


itself?  Look  at  the  portrait  of  the  Duchess  of  Devon- 
shire by  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  the  famous  one  with  the 
big  hat,  where  she  is  holding  the  dancing  baby.  There 
is  an  answer  more  eloquent  than  any  words  can  give. 

And,  the  rarest  thing  in  a  fashion,  it  became  age  as 
completely.  Even  elderliness  emerged  triumphant.  I  vow 
that  Mrs.  Hardcastle,  Mrs.  Malaprop,  Mrs.  Primrose  are 
delightful  figures  of  buxomness  on  any  stage.  Their 
double  chins  assume  a  pleasant  sort  of  dignity,  over- 
shadowed by  the  curls  and  loops  of  their  tremendous 
coiffures.  The  dress  with  its  panniers,  its  apron,  its  gen- 
eral amplitude,  is  peculiarly  advantageous  to  the  too 
solid  flesh  of  the  matron. 

The  mode  of  the  moment  has  a  singular  effect  on  the 
morals  of  the  moment.  Our  emotions  are  more  molded 
and  colored  by  our  clothes  than  we  are  aware. 

It  is  quite  certain  that  when  a  young  lady  went  pan- 
niered  and  patched,  fichued  and  ruffled,  powdered  and 
rouged,  tripping  on  high  heels,  ready  for  the  minuet,  her 
feelings  went  delicately  with  her,  metaphorically  garbed 
in  daintiness  to  match. 

And  when  a  gentleman  of  fashion  was  a  Beau,  when 
his  fine  leg  showed  to  its  utmost  in  a  silk  stocking,  when 
his  pampered  hand  was  as  elegant  of  gesture  with  a  pinch 
of  snuff  between  falling  ruffles  as  it  was  in  whipping  out 
a  small  sword,  he  retained  his  masculine  virility  none  the 
less;  but,  like  the  blade  of  that  same  small  sword,  was 
cutting,  polished,  deadly,  vicious  even,  all  .within  the 
measure  of  courtesy  and  refinement. 

The  world  has  mightily  changed  since  the  days  when 
hearts  beat  under  the  folds  of  the  fichu  or  against  the 
exquisite  embroideries  of  the  waistcoat.  Sad  divagations 
then,  as  now,  were  taken  out  of  the  path  of  rectitude, 

vi 


PREFACE 

but  they  were  taken  with  a  rustle  of  protesting  petticoats, 
to  the  gallant  accompaniment  of  buckled  shoes  or  more 
romantic  still,  dashing  top  boots. 

A  tale  of  1788  is  necessarily  a  tale  of  petticoats. 

A  winning  wave,  deserving  note 
Of  a  tempestuous  petticoat, 

cries  the  poet  of  an  earlier  age.  Femininity  must  needs 
rustle  and  whisper  and  curtsy  and  flounce  through  every 
chapter. 

The  collaborator,  whose  name  appears  for  the  last  time 
on  this  title  page,  turned  to  the  century  of  The  Bath 
Comedy  and  the  subsequent  and  connected  chronicles  as 
a  kind  of  relaxation  of  the  mind  from  what  he  most  hated, 
the  ugliness  of  modern  life.  The  realism  which  sets  itself 
to  describe  the  material  and  grosser  aspect  of  any  emo- 
tion, the  brutality  that  miscalls  itself  strength,  that  forc- 
ing of  the  note  of  horror — which  is  no  more  power  than 
the  beating  of  a  tin  can  or  the  shrieking  of  a  siren  is 
music — were  abhorrent  to  him.  He  liked  the  pretty 
period  in  spite  of  its  artificialities;  he  liked  the  whole 
glamour  of  the  time ;  he  liked  its  reticence  and  its  gayety, 
its  politeness,  its  wit,  and  its  naughtiness  and  its  quaint- 
ness,  because,  as  in  an  artistic  bout  of  fencing,  it  was 
all  bounded  by  a  certain  measure  of  grace  and  rule. 

The  laughter  he  gave  to  these  conceptions  came,  as  true 
laughter  must,  from  the  most  innocent  and  wholesome 
heart.  It  is  this  laughter  which  is  his  last  legacy  to  a 
sad,  tangled  and  rather  ugly  world. 

AGNES  EGERTON  CASTLE 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PREFACE         ..........>...       v 

PROLOGUE        1 

CHAPTER 

I.    How  MY  LADY  KILCRONEY  EKTEBZO  INTO  ROYAL  SEBV- 

ICK     UNDER     THE      SHADOW      OF     THE      ITALIAN      HAT 

TRIMMED  BY  Miss  PAMELA  POUNCE 5 

II.    IN    WHICH    Miss    PAMELA    POUNCE    Is    ORDERED    TO 

PACK 37 

III.  IN    WHICH    Miss   PAMELA    POUNCE,   THE    MILLINER'S 

ASSISTANT,  BECOMES  ARBITER  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

IN  HIGH  SOCIETY        49 

IV.  SHOWING  STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT        ....       72 

V.    IN  WHICH  Miss  PAMELA  POUNCE  DEMONSTRATES  THE 

VALUE  OF  VIRTUE  TO  HER  FAMILY  AXD  HER  FRIENDS    102 

VI.    IN  WHICH  MY  LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH  AND 

Miss  POUNCE  THROWS  COLD  WATER  ON  IT      ...     129 

VII.  '  IN  WHICH  Is  MANIFEST  THE  HAND  OF  THE  SAINTED 

JULIA 152 

VIII.    IN  WHICH  A  WONDERFUL  BIT  OF  LUCK  COMES  OUT 

OF  Miss  POUNCE'S  BANDBOX  FOR  SOMEBODY  ELSE     .     163 

IX.    IN  WHICH   Miss  PAMELA  POUNCE  HAS  DONE  WITH 

LOVE         191 

X.    IN  WHICH  Miss  PAMELA  POUNCE  SETS  THREE  BLACK 

FEATHERS  FOR   TRAGEDY         207 

XI.     IN   WHICH   THERE   Is   A   PRODIGIOUS   SCANDAL  ABOUT 

PINK  FLOUNCES 235 

XII.    IN  WHICH  MY  LADY  KILCHONEY  INSISTS  ON  THE  DUTY 

OF  MORALITY      . 247 

XIII.  IN  WHICH  MY  LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  AN  INDELI- 

CATE Fuss 265 

XIV.  IN  WHICH  KITTY  Is  MORE  INCOMPARABLE  THAN  EVER    287 

XV.  IN  WHICH  "THE  MAD  BRAT"  TAKES  THE  BIT  BETWEEN 
HER  TEETH,  BUT  Miss  PAMELA  POUNCE  KEEPS  HOLD 
OF  THE  REINS 299 

XVI.    IN  WTHICH  MY  LADY  KILCRONEY  HAS  THE  LAST  WORD    330 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


PROLOGUE 

"  \JO  man  is  hero  to  his  valet";  so  runs  the  cynical 

-L  V  adage.  But  you  can  reverse  the  saying  with  ref- 
erence to  the  other  sex.  Every  woman  is  a  heroine  to  her 
lady's  maid;  it  may  not  be  true  in  all  cases,  but  'tis  true 
enough  for  any  proverb. 

The  romance  of  a  lady's  own  woman  is  centered  in  her 
mistress.  She  will  clothe  her  in  finery  with  a  greater  joy 
than  if  she  were  draping  herself;  rather  than  see  her  go 
shabby  she  would  wear  sackcloth;  she  will  hang  over  the 
banisters,  on  a  dinner-party  night,  to  observe  the  sit  of 
her  train  as  she  sweeps  downstairs  on  the  arm  of  some 
notable  personage;  she  will  lean  out  of  the  window  to 
watch  her  step  into  her  sedan,  and  if  there  are  Beaus 
hovering  and  my  Lady  tosses  her  plumes  and  whisks  her 
panniers  to  proper  advantage  it  is  Abigail's  heart  that 
beats  high  with  pride. 

Even  Miss  Lydia  Pounce,  own  woman  to  my  Lady  Kil- 
croney,  a  damsel  remarkable  from  her  earliest  youth  for 
her  tart  and  contradictious  ways,  who  was  verging  on 
elderliness  now  with  the  acidity  and  leanness  peculiar  to 
the  "born  old  maid,"  would  have  laid  down  her  life  to  in- 
sure that  my  Lady's  Court  *,own  should  Jit  her  trim  waist 
without  a  wrinkle,  or  that  the  pink  silk  stocking  that 
clothed  her  pretty  leg  was  drawn  to  its  proper  skin-tight 
limit. 

(Both  the  Incomparable  Kitty  and  her  Lydia  were  ex- 

1 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


ccedingly  particular  that  these  same  stocking-,  should 
never  be  worn  with  the  gross  slovenliness  that  permitted  a 
sag.  Not,  indeed,  that  anything  but  the  merest  glimpse 
of  slender,  arched  feet  like  the  "little  mice"  of  an  earlier 
poet's  fancy,  peeping  in  and  out  from  under  the  flutter 
and  foam  of  lace  and  silken  flounce,  was  ever  displayed 
to  the  vulgar  eye;  but  to  know  these  niceties  complete  in 
the  smallest  and  most  delicate  detail  was  necessary  to  the 
comfort  of  any  self-respecting  woman.  And  on  this  point 
Lydia  was  in  thorough  sympathy  with  her  mistress,  as 
upon  all  others  connected  with  the  elegance  and  bon  ton  of 
the  most  modish  of  Mayfair  belles;  of  that  leader  of 
Fashion,  Feeling  and  Style  which  the  Lady  Kilcroney  un- 
doubtedly was.) 

If  Woman  be  a  heroine  to  her  lady's  maid,  in  what  light 
does  she  appear  to  her  Milliner? 

Here  we  come  upon  debatable  ground.  At  first  sight  it 
would  seem  that,  as  the  milliner  is  dependent  upon  her  cus- 
tomers for  her  very  existence,  it  must  follow  that,  what- 
ever her  private  opinion  may  be  with  regard  to  their  ap- 
pearance and  taste,  she  can  have  but  one  burning  desire — 
to  please  her  patronesses.  There  is  nevertheless  another 
side  to  the  question. 

What  Woman  of  intelligence  but  does  not  realize  that  a 
Mode  may  make  or  mar  her?  How  much  may  hang  on 
the  droop  of  a  feather ;  the  tilt  of  a  hat  brim ;  the  glow 
of  a  rose  in  cunning  juxtaposition  with  the  soft  carmine 
of  a  blushing  cheek?  Blue  eyes,  that  before  had  lan- 
guished their  tenderest  in  vain,  may  flash  into  sudden  sig- 
nificance under  a  knot  of  azure  ribbon.  Saucy  innocence 
may  triumph  beneath  a  shepherdess  wreath,  or  tired 
charms  may  kindle  into  new  brilliancy  stimulated  by  the 
consciousness  of  the  perfect  inspiration.  In  fine,  all  that 

2 


PROLOGUE 


life  holds  best  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  mantuamaker  where 
the  Lady  of  Fashion  is  concerned.  Let  but  a  clever  busi- 
ness woman  grasp  this  great  and  awful  truth ;  and  she  who 
combines  the  brain  that  can  devise,  the  taste  that  never 
fails,  the  acumen  that  knows  no  hesitation,  the  finger  that 
is  at  once  light  and  firm,  unerring  and  ethereal,  becomes 
to  her  employers  a  treasure  beyond  the  mines  of  Golconda ! 

Such  a  treasure  did  Miss  Pamela  Pounce,  with  whom 
these  pages  are  concerned,  prove  herself  to  the  noted 
Madame  Mirabel  of  Bond  Street.  And  such  an  influence, 
far-reaching,  and  subtle,  did  she  exercise  on  the  lives  of 
the  elegantes  who  consulted  her,  with  the  eager  submission 
and  reverence  of  the  believing  Greek  for  his  Oracles, 
though  with  far  other  and  comfortably  practical  results ! 

Miss  Pamela  Pounce,  Goddess  of  Modes,  was  ipso  facto 
Goddess  of  the  Machine  of  Life,  deciding,  with  a  lucky 
toss  of  ribbons  or  hitherto  undreamed-of  combination  of 
fal-lals,  the  fate  of  her  fair  customers,  and  incidentally 
that  of  their  Beaus,  their  lovers  and  their  husbands:  my 
Lady  Kilcroney  and  her  lazy,  jolly,  life-loving  Lord ;  dark- 
browed  Susan  Verney,  who  would  fain  have  bent  the  whole 
world  to  her  sway  as  she  did  her  weary  Baron;  Lady 
Anne,  her  sister,  still  fondly,  foolishly  in  love  with  her 
stalwart,  countrified  Squire,  Philip  Day;  their  young 
sister,  the  last  of  the  fair  Vereker  Ladies  and  the  naughti- 
est, with  her  amazing  love-stories ;  Mr.  Stafford,  the  once 
famous  Beau,  proud  of  the  startling  beauty  of  his  excel- 
lent, dull  wife  and  anxious  that  she  should  flaunt  it  a  la 
mode  with  the  best  of  them;  Sir  Jasper  Standish,  the 
sporting  Baronet,  who,  scarce  widowed  of  his  exquisite, 
clinging  Julia,  found  himself  entangled  beyond  belief  with 
Miss  Pamela  Pounce's  ribbons ;  the  noted  young  actress, 
Miss  Falcon,  known  as  "Fair  Fatality,"  whose  brief  life 

3 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


drama  was  more  tragic  than  any  she  had  enacted  for  the 
benefit  of  the  public ;  the  plain  Miss  Vibart,  who  found 
beauty  and  love  and  happiness  all  in  a  Pounce  bandbox; 
Mistress  Molly  Laf one's  own  sister — who  would  believe  it? 
— to  the  pearl  of  ingenuous  womanhood,  Prue  Stafford, 
Molly  Laf  one,  that  minx  whom  the  members  of  my  Lady 
Kilcroney's  coterie  were  so  unanimously  leagued  to  sup- 
press and  exclude,  and  who,  in  spite  of  their  efforts,  con- 
trived to  insinuate  herself  disastrously  into  all  their  com- 
binations (was  it  not  under  a  wreath  twisted  by  Pamela's 
long,  clever  fingers  that  this  elegant  little  adventuress 
came  to  her  most  deserved  catastrophe?) — there  was  not 
one  of  them  but  came  under  her  wand ! 

But  at  the  same  time,  the  arbiter  of  the  fate  of  others 
in  the  shape  of  a  very  human  young  woman,  guided  the 
shuttle  of  her  own  destiny,  and  wove  a  remarkably  pretty 
design  for  herself. 

Milliners,  unlike  Oracles  and  Sibyls,  have  each  their  per- 
sonal human  span  with  its  joys  and  fears,  pleasures,  pains 
and  triumphs.  Pamela's  romance  ran  like  a  cherry-col- 
ored thread  through  the  warp  and  woof  of  those  other 
existences,  so  far  above  her,  in  which  her  profession  had 
involved  her.  To  show  the  whole  pattern,  light  and  dark, 
sparkling  and  deep-hued,  flowered,  dotted,  arabesqued,  of 
this  brocade  of  earthly  life,  the  poor  Modiste  must  assume 
as  important  a  place  as  that  of  her  clientele. 


CHAPTER  I 

HOW  MY  LADY  KILCRONEY  ENTERED  INTO  ROYAL  SERVICE 
UNDER  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  ITALIAN  HAT  TRIMMED  BY 
MISS  PAMELA  POUNCE 

WHILE  Miss  Pamela  Pounce  was  serving  her  third 
year  as  apprentice  to  the  great  art  of  Hat  Con- 
fectionery, under  the  aegis  of  no  less  a  personage 
than  the  world-famous  Madame  Eglantine  of  Paris — 
once  "the  little  French  Milliner"  of  Bath — her  aunt  and 
benefactress,  who  had  placed  her  in  these  favorable  cir- 
cumstances, had  begun  to  taste  the  proudest  triumph  of 
her  life. 

Miss  Lydia  Pounce  was  about  to  become  own  woman  to 
a  Court  lady !  My  Lady  Kilcroney,  to  whom  she  had  so 
faithfully  and  ruthlessly  devoted  herself — from  the  days 
when,  as  the  Widow  Bellairs,  she  first  scintillated  in  the 
world  of  Fashion,  to  her  present  position  of  Viscountess — 
was  chosen  by  Her  Majesty,  Queen  Charlotte,  to  fill  the 
post  of  Lady-in-Waiting  to  her  own  Sacred  Person. 

To  enter  Court  circles  had  been  the  dream  of  Lydia's 
angular  and  ambitious  breast.  Her  mistress's  gratified 
vanity  was  a  trifling  emotion  compared  with  the  bursting 
satisfaction  which  this  upward  step  on  the  social  ladder 
afforded  the  maid.  It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  she 
regarded  herself  in  the  light  of  a  Prime  Minister  who  has 
successfully  brought  about  some  great  political  event  and 
who  is  a  far  more  important  person  than  the  Sovereign 
whom  he  serves. 

It  came  to  pass  in  this  wise. 

5 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


His  Most  Gracious  Majesty  King  George  III  had  been 
ordered  to  Cheltenham  Spa  for  the  waters  by  his  physi- 
cians ;  his  state  of  health  was  causing  anxiety,  the  extent 
of  which  was  as  yet  quite  unknown  to  the  bulk  of  his  loyal 
subjects.  Queen  Charlotte,  the  most  devoted  of  spouses, 
had,  of  course,  determined  to  accompany  him;  and  the 
Royal  party  duly  proceeded  to  the  Spa. 

It  happened  to  be  Lady  Flora  Dare  Stamer's  term  of 
attendance  on  Her  Majesty,  and  that  stout  estimable 
Lady-in-Waiting  happened  to  be  Lady  Kilcroney's  very 
close  and  dear  friend.  There  was  nothing  remarkable,  per- 
haps, in  the  conjunction  of  these  two  happenings;  but  it 
was,  indeed,  singular  that  Kitty  Kilcroney  should  happen 
to  discover  a  delicacy  in  her  son  and  heir  which  necessi- 
tated an  instant  visit  to  the  celebrated  health  resort  now 
so  vastly  honored. 

These  events  having  succeeded  each  other,  nothing  more 
natural  than  that  my  Lady  Kilcroney  should  invite  her 
"poor  dear  Flo"  to  a  dish  of  tea  and  a  chat  at  her  lodg- 
ings to  rest  her  of  the  fatigue  consequent  upon  her  eminent 
but  exhausting  office. 

Though  Lady  Flora  had  made  no  secret  to  her  intimates 
of  her  intention  to  rid  herself  of  her  honors  as  soon  as 
might  be,  who  so  surprised  as  her  dearest  Kitty  to  learn 
that  she  now  believed  her  emancipation  at  hand. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  my  dear,"  said  Lady  Flo,  chew- 
ing a  macaroon,  "it's  not  a  job  that  suits  me  in  the  least. 
'Twould  fit  you  vastly  better." 

"Oh,  Lady  Flo!"  cried  Kitty  in  accents  of  amazement. 
"What  a  strange  thought !  I  vow  and  declare  such  an 
idea  never  crossed  my  mind.  And,  in  truth,  'tis  rank  im- 
possible. There  are  a  hundred  reasons — a  thousand  rea- 

6 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


sons — why  I  am  the  last  person  likely  to  be  selected  by 
Her  Majesty.  I  am  too  young." 

"Upon  my  word !"  said  her  companion  bluntly.  "I  doubt 
if  there's  so  much  between  us,  my  dear,  were  it  not  that 
I  have  run  to  fat.  These  macaroons  are  excellent.  'Tis 
like  your  genius  to  be  so  well  served  in  lodgings.  You've 
brought  the  best  of  your  staff  with  you,  I  make  no 
doubt." 

"And  oh,  my  love!  the  difficulty  of  housing  them! 
There's  scarce  a  tradesman  in  the  town  that  hath  not  a 
servant  of  mine." 

Kitty  spoke  with  the  careless  self-importance  of  the 
wealthy  woman.  And  Lady  Florence  approved. 

"How  right  you  are,  my  love,  to  insist  on  Com- 
fort !"  Comfort  was  the  first  and  last  of  her  aspirations. 
"Aye,  I  will  have  a  little  more  cream.  This  whipped 
stuff — I  dare  swear  'tis  your  idea  to  have  it  so  lavishly 
flavored  with  the  vanilla ;  vastly  delicate.  Your  chocolate 
is  as  incomparable  as  your  agreeable  self !  But  yours  are 
not  the  years  of  giddiness ;  I  speak  in  all  friendship,  I  beg 
you  to  believe." 

Kitty  murmured  in  an  absent  voice  that  she  had  mar- 
ried her  first — worthy  Bellairs — a  mere  child,  practically 
out  of  the  nursery. 

"Anyhow,  my  sweet  Kilcroney,  no  woman  who  has  had 
two  husbands  can  deny  a  certain  amount  of  experience, 
and  upon  rep,"  with  a  rolling  laugh,  "I  don't  care  who 
knows  that  I'm  on  the  wrong  side  of  thirty !  You  must 
be  pretty  well  advanced  on  the  right  side  of  it?" 

"If  you  can  call  twenty-eight " 

"Admit  to  twenty-eight,  by  all  means ! — nevertheless, 
'tis  an  age  of  discretion  and  Her  Majesty " 

"I  understand,"  said  Kitty,  balancing  her  teaspoon  on 

7 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


the  rim  of  her  handleless  cup  with  a  musing  air — she  won- 
dered in  her  soul  if  the  excellent  Lady  Flo  could  really  be 
taken  in  by  this  pretense;  if  it  were  possible  she  did  not 
guess  that  she,  Kitty  Kilcroney,  was  longing,  grilling  to 
step  into  her  Court  shoes,  as  if  she  cared  who  knew  that 
she  was  over  thirty  her  last  birthday,  and  warming  but 
to  riper  beauty  as  the  months  slipped  by ! 

"  'Tis  not,"  she  said  aloud,  with  a  pout,  "that  I  would 
decline  a  post  about  Our  Gracious  Queen,  if  'twere  offered 
me,  God  forbid !  I  am  too  loyal  a  subject.  But  I  under- 
stand the  German  woman,  that  frumpish  creature,  the 
Keeper  of  the  Robes — what's  her  barbarous  name? — hath 
the  Royal  ear,  and  will  not  suffer  anything  young  or 
comely,  if  she  can  help  it,  about  Her  Majesty.  (And 
there's  one  for  you,  my  Lady  Flo,  with  your  right  and 
your  wrong  side  of  thirty !)  'Tis  a  vast  of  pity  you  will 
not  continue  to  occupy  a  position  so  honorable  and  so  be- 
coming to  you." 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,"  said  Lady  Flora,  unmoved, 
helping  herself  to  another  macaroon,  "  'tis  the  standing 
that  undoes  your  poor  friend!  Conceive  it,  my  love,  full 
fourteen  stone  and  on  my  feet  hours  every  day.  Hours, 
did  I  say?  Centuries.  Look  hither!"  She  thrust  out  a 
large,  sandaled  foot,  which  certainly  had  a  plethoric  ap- 
pearance. "  'Tis  swollen  beyond  relief.  I  acknowledge 
my  stoutness.  I  make  but  little  count  of  it,  for  I've  been 
a  prodigious  comfortable  woman  along  of  it.  'Tis  a 
cushioned  life.  It  pads  the  mind  as  it  were.  I  assure 
you,  I  believe  myself  to  have  been,  only  some  three  months 
ago,  the  most  good-tempered  woman  in  England.  And 
now,  'pon  rep  I  am  growing  peevish!  Fie  upon  it — stout 
and  peevish !  Was  there  ever  such  a  combination  ?" 

As  if  to  contradict  her  own  statement  she  again  gave 

8 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


way  to  her  jolly  laugh.  Kitty,  watching  her  through  long 
eyelashes,  sighed. 

"But  what  can  induce  you  to  think  of  me,  my  Lady  Flo? 
Poor  little  retiring  me?" 

"Pray,  my  dear,  do  not  play  the  Molly  Lafone  with 


me: 


i" 


Molly  Lafone!  Such  a  comparison  was  too  comic! 
Kitty  laughed  and  dropped  her  not  very  successful  mask. 

"Upon  my  word,  then,  I  believe  it  would  suit  me !  But 
how  can  it  be  accomplished  ?  I  am  not  one  to  push  myself 
forward.  My  Lord  Kilcroney  is  an  Irishman  and  no  court- 
ier and  Their  Majesties  have  their  own  favorites;  and 
indeed  to  begin  with,  I  doubt  whether  you  will  find  it  so 
easy  to  resign." 

"Resign,  Kitty !  Resign !  No,  dear  Kilcroney,  I  am  on 
the  point  of  being  graciously  dismissed.  It  took  some 
management,  but  I  was  desperate.  Another  month  of 
this,  I  said,  and  Mr.  Stamer  will  be  able  to  look  out  for  a 
new  wife — which  he  would  do,  my  dear  love,  across  my 
very  coffin.  'Twas  yesterday  sennight  then,  I  made  up  my 
mind.  I  took  my  best  rose-point  flounce — by  the  mercy 
of  heaven  it  was  just  returned  from  the  lace-mender, 
neatly  packed  in  tissue,  tied  with  ribbon  and  a  scent  bag 
within,  as  elegant  a  parcel  as  you  could  wish  to  see ! — and 
I  sought  Mrs.  Schwellenberg — aye,  that  same! — and  says 
I,  'For  mercy's  sake,  give  me  a  chair.  My  poor  feet 
will  scarce  support  me!'  At  which  she  looks  as  sour  as  a 
crab,  and,  quoth  she:  'We  all  have  veet,  Lady  Florence' 
(you  know  her  vile  accent),  'but  we  forget  dem  in  our 
great  honor  and  brivilege.'  'Would  God  I  could  forget 
mine,'  thinks  I.  But  she  glances  at  the  parcel  in  my  hand: 
'Take  a  zeat,'  she  says  with  a  roll  of  her  old  eye.  'Ah,  my 

9 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


good  Frau,'  says  I  to  myself,  'you  may  look,  but  you 
shan't  clutch  yet  a  bit !' " 

Lady  Florence  laughed  reminiscently,  and  Kitty 
screamed : 

"Never  tell  me  you  gave  the  old  Dutch  villain  your  rose- 
point  flounce !" 

"And  what  could  be  the  good  of  a  rose-point  flounce  to 
me,  when  I  should  be  dropped  dead  in  the  Queen's  apart- 
ment, like  any  hackney  jade?  My  love,  I  showed  that  an- 
cient toad  my  two  feet — and  I  vow  'toad'  is  a  good  name 
for  her,  for  she  hath  the  countenance  and  the  croak  of 
her  own  pet  frogs — I  showed  her  my  feet  and  I  lamented 
my  stones  of  weight.  'Pon  rep!  I  gave  myself  sixteen, 
I  did  indeed,  and  what  with  the  swelling,  I  looked  'em! 
'Let  me  confide  in  you,'  I  cries,  'if  ever  I  saw  a  truly 
noble  soul  writ  on  a  human  brow,  'tis  on  yours!  My 
frame,'  I  cries,  'is  not  equal  to  my  devotion.  My  ankles 
will  not  support  the  loyalty  of  my  heart!  'tis  not  that  I 
should  grudge  passing  away  in  such  service,'  I  cries,  turn- 
ing up  my  eyes — you  could  not  have  done  it  better,  Kitty ! 
— 'but  were  I  to  faint  in  those  sacred  precincts,  were  I 
to  pass  away  in  that  august  Presence,  Her  Majesty  would 
be  justly  annoyed.  Dr.  Jebb  has  warned  me.  Alas !  look 
at  me.  Am  I  not  fat?  'Vat  you  are,'  says  she,  'but  so 
am  I.'  Well,  then,  my  love,  I  gave  her  a  peep  of  the  lace 
and  she  began  to  dribble  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth  and 
I  knew  the  trick  was  done!  'If  I  speak  to  Her  Majesty,' 
says  she,  and  she,  fingering  my  rose-point,  'I  vender  vot 
substitute  I  could  suggest.  Her  Majesty  she  does  not 

like  the  changes,  and '     And  then  I  thought  of  you, 

Kitty." 

"I  wonder  why,  in  the  name  of  Heaven !"  cried  this  lady 
tartly. 

10 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


"Your  feet  won't  swell,  my  love." 

"I  need  not  accept,"  quoth  Kitty,  pinching  her  lips. 

"Kitty,  if  you  play  your  cards  well,  the  post  will  be 
offered  to  you  while  Their  Majesties  are  here  at  Chelten- 
ham. 'Tis  all  settled  with  the  Schwellenberg.  Do  you 
not  know,"  said  Lady  Florence,  pushing  the  dish  with  a 
single  remaining  macaroon  upon  it  virtuously  from  her, 
"that  Susan  Verney  is  making  all  the  interest  in  the  world 
for  the  honor?  But  she  was  rude  to  the  Schwellenberg 
one  day — you  know  poor  Susan's  way ! — and  when  they 
met  in  my  drawing-room  at  Queen's  Lodge,  and  the 
Schwellenberg  would  have  none  of  her !" 

"Say  no  more !"  cried  Kitty,  and  fire  shot  from  her  eyes. 

"My  love,  I  believe  I  have  served  you,"  said  Lady  Flor- 
ence, replying  to  the  eloquence  of  that  glance.  "  'My 
Royals  are  not  partial  to  the  Irish,'  said  Schwellenberg. 
*Ah,  but  Madam,'  I  says,  'my  Lady  Kilcroney  is  not  Irish. 
She  is  true-born  English,  and  has  vast  wealth — widow 
of  an  Indian  nabob — vast  wealth  and  a  generous  heart ! 
And  you  admire  the  lace,  Madam?'  says  I.  'In  the  very 
truth  I  was  hoping  I  might  venture  to  offer  it  to  you,  for 
'tis  lace  that  should  be  worn  at  Court,  Madam,  and  in  no 
other  place  and  as  I  mentioned  to  you,  my  Lady  Kil- 
croney and  her  Lord  have  practically  severed  all  ties  with 
Ireland.  If  you  would  accept  the  flounce,  Madam,  on  my 
retirement  (I  think  there  is  a  narrow  edging  of  rose 
point  to  match)' — 'I  will  tink  of  what  you  say  about  my 
Lady  Kilcroncy,*  croaks  she.  Am  I  not  a  good  friend, 
Kitty?" 

She  looked  at  Kitty  with  such  beaming  kindness  that 
all  the  latter's  caprices  vanished;  she  cast  herself  affec- 
tionately on  Lady  Florence's  huge  bosom  and  voted  that 
she  was  indeed  the  best  and  dearest ! 

11 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


It  was  agreed  between  them  before  the  large  and  jovial 
lady  left  the  pleasant  apartments  overlooking  the 
meadows,  that  she  would  call  early  next  morning  and  re- 
port the  result  of  Mrs.  Schwellenberg's  "tinking,"  since 
she  had  been  given  to  understand  that  Her  Majesty  would 
deliver  her  gracious  dismissal  that  evening,  during  the 
process  of  the  Royal  disrobing. 

"You  must  hold  yourself  ready,  my  sweet  child,  to  be 
at  any  point  considered  suitable  along  Her  Majesty's 
path  during  the  next  few  days.  By  the  looks  Her  Majesty 
casts  on  me  I  am  convinced  Schwellenberg  kept  her  word 
and  prepared  the  ground  ere  we  left  Queen's  Lodge. 
Well,  she  knew  she  would  not  get  the  rose-point  other- 
wise." 

Kitty  stood  reflecting  in  the  bow  window  long  after 
Lady  Florence's  chairmen  had  reeled  away  with  their  bur- 
den towards  Lord  Fauconberg's  small  house  on  the  hill, 
which  had  been  placed  at  Their  Majesties'  disposal.  It 
could  not  be  said  that  she  had  quite  so  altogether  con- 
suming a  desire  for  the  post  of  Lady-in-Waiting  since 
hearing  Lady  Florence's  talk  and  gazing  on  those  swollen 
feet,  but,  rather  than  that  Susan  Verney,  dark,  overbear- 
ing Susan,  should  have  the  advantage  Kitty  would  have 
stood  on  burning  plowshares.  She  had,  thank  Heaven, 
as  good  health  as  any  lady  in  the  kingdom,  a  back  that 
was  never  tired,  and  a  fund  of  humor  and  good  humor 
that  made  her  equal  to  most  trials.  Moreover,  she  had 
a  fighting  spirit,  and,  she  flattered  herself,  a  charm  of 
her  own.  If  she  did  not  get  the  better  of  Schwellenberg, 
on  the  one  hand,  and  ingratiate  herself  with  Royalty,  on 
the  other,  then  she  was  no  longer  "Incomparable  Bel- 
lairs"! 

12 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


Her  agreeable  reflections  were  broken  in  upon  by  the 
entrance  of  my  Lord  Kilcroney. 

Now,  hot-blooded,  red-headed  Irishman  as  he  was,  it  was 
the  rarest  thing  in  the  world  for  this  nobleman  to  be  seri- 
ously out  of  temper  with  any  one,  let  alone  with  the  wife 
of  his  bosom;  but,  as  he  now  flung  himself  into  Kitty's 
hired  parlor,  he  was  in  as  irate  a  mood  as  he  had  ever  in- 
dulged in,  and  that  with  his  Lady. 

"Here's  a  pretty  business !"  quoth  he,  and  cast  his  hat 
on  the  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  very  nearly  dis- 
lodging the  glass  dome  which  protected  a  gold  filigree 
basket  containing  the  most  purple  plums,  the  reddest 
strawberries,  the  bluest  grapes  that  ever  artist  in  wax  pro- 
duced. "Here's  a  pretty  to-do !"  cried  Denis  Kilcroney. 

"There  seems  indeed  to  be  a  to-do!"  retorted  Kitty. 
She  wheeled  round  from  the  window.  "But  you  will  con- 
descend to  explain  the  cause  perhaps,  my  Lord?" 

"So  I  hear  you've  got  a  place  about  the  Court,  me  dar- 
ling," said  Denis,  plunging  into  sarcasm,  with  a  flushed 
countenance.  "  'Pon  me  soul,  'tis  the  grand  lady  you're 
going  to  be  entirely!  'Tis  the  back  seat  your  husband 
will  have  to  be  taking.  Glory  be  to  God,  what's  a  hus- 
band ?  And  an  Irish  one  into  the  bargain !" 

"Pray,  my  Lord,"  cried  Kitty,  all  eagerness,  "where 
have  you  heard  the  news?  For,  as  I'm  a  living  woman, 
'tis  news  to  me." 

"Ah !  go  on  out  of  that !"  My  Lord  was  certainly  very 
angry  and  more  than  usually  Hibernian.  "Didn't  that 
fat  baggage  come  straight  out  of  these  doors?  Didn't 
she  put  that  full-moon  face  of  hers  out  of  the  sedan  win- 
dow and  bawl  to  her  men  to  stop  and  then  with  the  sweat 
dripping  off  them,  God  help  them !  And  'Oh,'  she  calls, 
'my  Lord  Kilcroney,'  she  cries,  *  'tis  quite  settled,'  she  says. 

13 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


'And  your  Kitty  to  take  my  post  about  Her  Majesty.' 
Why,  all  Cheltenham  could  have  heard  her." 

"Tush!"  Kitty's  peach-tinted  countenance  agog  with 

delight,  fell.  "Is  that  all?  Why "  She  was  about  to 

expound  to  Denis  with  some  firmness  the  folly  of  giving  way 
to  passion  over  an  event  that  was  still  in  the  uncertain 
/uture,  at  the  same  time  conveying  to  him  her  clear  inten- 
tion to  leave  no  stone  unturned  towards  its  accomplish- 
ment, when  her  little  black  page  appeared  at  the  open 
door,  grinning  at  the  sounds  of  dispute,  and  announced: 
"Mistress  Lafone."  And  if  the  sight  of  dusky  innocence 
amused  was  exasperating  to  my  Lady,  what  can  be  said 
of  the  feeling  aroused  by  the  smile  of  minxish  artfulness? 

"Good  Heavens !"  cried  Kitty.  "And  what  brings  you 
to  Cheltenham,  if  one  may  ask?" 

"Good-morrow,  my  sweet  Kilcroney." 

This  familiarity! 

"Good-morrow,  Madam."  Kitty  swept  a  curtsy  to 
mark  her  distance,  the  while  my  Lord  kissed  the  creature's 
hand,  positively  as  if  he  liked  doing  so  and  him  but  out  of 
such  a  tantrum  as  never  was. 

"And  what  should  bring  me  to  Cheltenham? — No,  my 
Lord,  pray.  I  prefer  the  little  stool.  I  do,  indeed. — Why 
should  not  poor  little  me  be  here  with  the  rest?" 

"Why,  indeed  ?"  growled  Kilcroney. 

"And  what  has  brought  you,  my  Lady,  if  one  may  in- 
quire?" 

"She  thought  little  Denis  looked  pale!"  cried  my  Lord 
and  gave  a  great  guffaw. 

"You  may  laugh,  Madam,"  said  Kitty,  as  Mrs.  Lafone 
tinkled  delicately.  "There  are  feelings  which  only  a 
mother  can  understand." 

Mistress  Lafone  was  childless. 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


"One  excuse  will  serve  as  well  as  another."  My  Lord 
let  himself  fall  into  a  chair  that  creaked  threateningly  be- 
neath his  weight. 

"Oh,  I  seek  for  no  excuse,"  quoth  Molly  Lafone. 
Crouching  on  the  low  stool,  she  had  a  singular  air  of  as- 
tuteness in  spite  of  her  fostered  childishness.  "I  never  can 
understand  why  people  should  not  tell  the  truth."  She 
raised  arch  eyes  toward  my  Lord,  while  Kitty  sat  with  the 
majesty  of  an  Eastern  idol  and  had  not  as  much  as  the 
quiver  of  an  eyelash. 

"I'm  here  to  curry  favor  with  Royalty,"  she  laughed 
again  sweetly,  "like  the  rest  of  us !" 

The  brazenness  of  it!  My  Lord  guffawed  again.  He 
certainly  was  in  a  most  unpleasant  mood. 

"Huthen.  I  hope  you'll  be  as  successful  as  my  Lady 
there!" 

"Oh!  my  Lady  Kilcroney! " 

"Sure  isn't  it  the  surprise  of  her  life !"  Kilcroney  once 
more  waded  heavily  in  sarcasm.  "She  hadn't  as  much  as 
the  faintest  notion  such  a  thing  could  happen  to  her — 
had  you,  me  Lady?  She  hadn't  as  much  as  opened  her 
mouth  for  the  plum" — it  was  perhaps  the  purple  artifice 
on  the  table  that  suggested  the  simile — "but  didn't  it  drop 
into  it?  It's  going  to  be  Lady-in-Waiting  she  is,  in  place 
of  my  Lady  Flo " 

"Oh!  my  Lord,  say  you  so?  Says  he  right,  my  dearest 
Lady  Kilcroney?  'Tis  the  most  splendid,  the  most  mon- 
strous, delightful  news  I've  heard  this  long  time.  Oh!" 
cried  Mrs.  Lafone,  clasping  and  wringing  her  hands  in 
ecstasy.  "May  not  your  little  Molly  rejoice  with  you?" 

"You  are  vastly  disinterested,"  said  Kitty. 

Mrs.  Lafone  gave  her  tinkling  laugh. 

"Ah,  my  Lady ! — Indeed,  my  Lord,  I  have  said  that  I  am 

15 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


frank.  Dearest  Lady  Kilcroney,  I  will  be  frank — if  I 
could  obtain  some  little  post — the  teeniest,  weeniest  little 
post  at  Court " 

But  Kitty  interrupted,  bouncing  out  of  her  stateliness. 

"Pray,  Mrs.  Lafone,  for  what  post  should  you  consider 
yourself  qualified  about  the  august  person  of  Our  Gra- 
cious Queen?" 

"Oh !  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  the  least  little  post  in  all  the 
world !  Hath  not  the  Queen  appointed  a  plain  Miss  Bur- 
ney  readei  ?  I  believe  I  could  very  well  be  reader.  Mr. 
Lafone  says  I  have  a  silver  tone  in  iny  voice,  and  our 
curate  at  home  once  told  me " 

"Tush,  the  celebrated  Miss  Burney  hath  qualifications, 
child,  which  you  in  your  foolishness  fail  to  appreciate." 

"Yet  she  is  but  a  music  teacher's  daughter,  Madam," 
said  Molly  with  a  mighty  sigh.  She  dropped  her  white 
eyelids  and  turned  a  green  glint  on  my  Lord,  and  sighed 
again.  "Or  if  not  actually  about  Her  Majesty — who  am 
I  indeed  to  aspire  to  that  Presence? — some  office  about 
yourself,  dear  Lady  Kilcroney.  I  would  be  your  secre- 
tary, your  Lady-in- Waiting,  your  devoted  attendant !" 

"This  is  folly,"  cried  Kitty.  "I  am  by  no  means  ap- 
pointed to  my  Lady  Flo's  post,  and  if  I  were — well  to  be 
frank  with  you,  Lafone,  since  you  like  frankness  so  much 
— you  are  the  last  person  in  the  world  I  should  ever  be 
instrumental  in  bringing  to  Court.  Heavens  !"  cried  Kitty, 
gazing  upwards  at  the  low  ceiling,  as  if  she  saw  through  it 
into  the  celestial  regions.  "What  discretion,  what  fault* 
less  propriety  of  conduct,  what  a  delicate  sense  of  re- 
sponsibility, what  a  blameless  record  should  be  demanded 
of  one  who  would  enter  that  circle !" 

(It  was  the  glint  of  her  visitor's  green  eye  at  my  Lord 
which  gave  this  stern  decision  to  Kitty's  tones.) 

16 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


Here  quite  unexpectedly  and  with  admirable  effective- 
ness large  tears  rose  in  Mrs.  Lafone's  eyes  and  rolled 
down  her  cheeks  without  in  the  least  disturbing  the  pret-r 
tines-s  of  her  pointed  visage.  My  Lord  cast  a  glance  from 
one  to  the  other ;  it  was  lit  with  a  tender  sympathy  as  it 
fell  on  this  touching  impersonation  of  grief  and  kindled 
with  reproach  as  it  shot  to  Kitty. 

Mrs.  Lafone  gave  a  small  sob. 

"Your  sweet  lady,"  she  said,  now  audaciously  address- 
ing her  male  champion,  "has  ever  been  a  friend  in  need. 
'Tis  for  that,  that  I  have  ventured,  my  Lord,  that  I  have 
ventured  to  come  to  her  to-day,  hearing — yes !  I  will  own 
it — I  already  knew  that  she  was  like  to  be  next  in  the 
Queen's  choice.  I  made  the  journey  hither  in  the  hopes — 
'tis  for  no  reason  of  petty  vanity,  no  mere  envious  ambi- 
tion" (thus  the  minx),  "no  hankering  greed  of  office — 
oh!  my  Lord,  I  scarce  know  why,  I  have  ever  been  sadly 
persecuted.  I  am  the  victim  of  evil  tongues ! — My  repu- 
tation has  been  assailed!" 

"Ha!"  said  Kitty.     The  ejaculation  leaped  from  her. 

Molly  Lafone  produced  another  silver  sob.  "Quite  un- 
foundedly, I  do  assure  you!  My  conscience  is  spotless, 
my  Lady  Kilcroney,  spotless" — she  caught  Kitty's  eye  and 
went  on  in  a  humble  voice — "in  this  instance !  Indeed, 
my  Lady — but  Mr.  Lafone — I  am  sadly  maligned,  he  is 

suspicious,  he "    Here  the  unfortunate  young  woman 

became  quite  incoherent  in  her  demonstrations  of  distress. 
She  wrung  her  white  hands  with  extra  pathos.  Another 
large  tear  flowed  and  quite  a  volley  of  little  sobbing,  dis- 
jointed phrases  accompanied  it,  "domestic  happiness — ig- 
norance of  the  world — poor  little  me,  country-bred  and 
guileless — salvation  or  despair!" 

In  the  midst,  Kitty  rose,  returning  to  majesty. 

17 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


"I  must  put  a  stop  to  a  scene  so  useless  and  so  painful. 
How  is  it  possible,  Madam,  you  do  not  see  that  every  word 
you  utter  but  marks  the  impossibility  of  your  request? 
Pray,  my  Lord,  see  Mistress  Lafone  to  her  chair." 

"Kitty !"  cried  Kilcroney,  springing  to  his  feet.  He 
had  not  thought  it  of  her,  to  requite  these  open-hearted 
confidences  with  insult;  to  turn  so  trusting  and  touching 
a  creature  into  the  street ;  a  lady — an  old  friend !  "Pray, 
Mistress  Lafone,  let  us  be  offering  you  a  dish  of  tea," 
cried  he. 

There  are  days  when  everything  goes  askew.  Kitty's 
great  footman  marched  into  the  room  and  presented  his 
mistress  with  a  letter  which,  he  said,  had  just  been  brought 
by  a  riding  messenger.  Kitty  took  it  from  the  salver  with 
all  the  air  of  one  glad  of  the  diversion,  but  no  sooner  had 
she  perused  it  than  she  exclaimed  in  tones  of  such  con- 
sternation that  my  Lord  leaned  forward  and  took  it  out 
of  her  hand.  He  exclaimed  in  his  turn,  but  in  accents  of 
pleasure. 

"Why,  what  is  this  ?  Sure,  Alanna,  there  is  naught  here 
to  upset  you;  'tis  the  best  of  good  fortune,  on  the  con- 
trary! Here's  your  sweet  friend,  my  Lady  Mandeville, 
actually  at  Malvern  and  proposing  to  drive  over  and  spend 
the  day  with  you  to-morrow,  bringing  her  little  rogue  to 
play  with  ours." 

"Oh,  this  is  intolerable  1"  cried  Kitty ;  "this  is  past  bear- 
ing! Bid  the  messenger  wait.  Good  heavens,  do  I  not 
hear  him  riding  away? — Call  him  back,  my  Lord,  call  him 
back !  On  no  account  must  my  Lady  Mandeville  be  per- 
mitted to  visit  me  to-morrow." 

My  Lord  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  and  the  veins  on  his 
forehead  swelled.  Kitty  rushed  to  the  window  and  hailed 
vigorously;  the  rhythmic  footfalls  of  a  horse  receding  at 

18 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


slow  pace  along  the  cobblestones  was,  on  a  sudden,  altered 
to  the  clatter  of  a  returning  trot. 

"Damnation!"  cried  my  Lord.     "This  passes  all!" 

Mistress  Lafone  had  stopped  the  wringing  of  hands  and 
the  production  of  tears  and  was  all  malicious  interest. 

Kilcroney  had  entered  into  a  towering  passion.  He 
protested  that  it  was  the  most  monstrous  low  thing,  that 
he  forbade  my  Lady  to  behave  so  base  to  her  friend. 

"Tare  an'  'ounds !"  cried  he,  "if  it  wasn't  ashamed  you 
were  to  be  enjoying  the  finest  hospitality  in  the  world,  the 
kindest,  the  most  open-hearted,  'tis  not  ashamed  you 
should  be  to  return  a  thrifle  of  it!  Shame!"  ejaculated 
Denis.  "Shame!  'tis  on  the  other  leg.  Gad,  'tis  the 
shameful  bit  of  meanness  you'd  be  practicing  and  'tis 
ashamed  I  am  of  you  meself  (that  I  should  live  to  say  it !). 
Your  best  friend!  And  all  for  what?  For  what  if  ye 
please?  For  the  favor  of  them  that  never  as  much  as 
acknowledged  your  existence.  'Pon  me  soul,  rather  than 
wound  the  feelings  of  that  angel  upon  earth,  that  fair, 
fond,  gentle,  noble  creature" — my  Lord's  voice  cracked — 
"I'd  see  the  whole  of  Windsor,  and  Kew  to  boot,  tumble 
into  the  Liffey." 

Kitty,  white  under  her  delicate  smears  of  rouge,  sat 
down  at  her  writing  table  with  the  most  sublime  air  of 
offended  virtue,  but  the  hand  that  dipped  the  pen  into  the 
ink  shook,  and  there  were  tears  in  the  voice  which  pres- 
ently declared  that  if  ever  there  was  woman  maligned  by 
her  own  husband,  it  was  my  Lady  Kilcroney :  she  who  had 
not  liked  to  disturb  her  Lord,  but  who  had  nevertheless 
noticed  a  red  spot  behind  their  darling  little  Denis's  ear 
that  very  morning;  which  spot,  as  every  one  who  was  a 
mother  knew,  might  very  well  betoken  no  less  a  malady 
than  the  measles,  which  malady  being  highly  infectious  to 

19 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


young  children,  she,  as  a  mother,  now  felt  it  her  duty  to 
put  off  her  cherished  Lady  Mandevillc  and  the  adored 
little  Impington  to  a  more  auspicious  day. 

"Spot !"  interrupted  my  Lord  with  a  roar  between  deri- 
sion and  wrath,  "and " 

"Spot?"  cooed  Mistress  Lafone,  now  letting  herself  go 
openly  to  insolence.  "My  dearest  Lady  Kilcroney,  you 
are  too  droll!" 

There  was  contempt  written  on  the  countenance  of  the 
pair  so  odiously  conjoined  against  Kitty;  neither  of  them 
being  subtle  enough  to  see  that  my  Lady  was  content  with 
any  excuse,  so  long  as  it  flung  a  veil  of  elegance  over  her 
set  purpose. 

This  incomparable  woman  recovered  herself,  rose,  sum- 
moned Pompey  and  sent  him  forth  with  her  letter  to  my 
Lord  Mandeville's  groom.  She  watched  its  delivery 
through  the  window  and,  having  beheld  the  man  start  off 
again,  returned  to  the  center  of  the  room,  made  in  silence 
a  profound  curtsy  which  included  her  Lord  and  her  vis- 
itor and  sailed  forth,  closing  the  door  carefully  behind  her. 

My  Lord  let  himself  fall  again  into  the  armchair  and 
once  more  this  article  of  furniture  protested  with  ominous 
creaks  and  cracks. 

"There's  not  a  stick  in  the  place,  bejabers,  that  isn't  as 
rotten  as  pears.  'Pon  my  word,"  grumbled  Denis  Kil- 
croney, "I  wish  the  plaguy  waters  had  never  been  discov- 
ered, I  do  indeed ;  'tis  a  poor  thing  when  a  man's  own  son 
and  heir  is  made  a  weapon  against  him,  and  him  but  turned 
of  three.  'Little  Denis  is  pale,  and  we  must  to  Chelten- 
ham. And  we'll  lie  at  Lady  Mandeville's,  which  is  on  our 
way,  my  love'  (and  it  thirty  miles  out,  taking  the  back  and 
the  forth  of  it).  'And  our  little  Denis  will  have  a  play- 
fellow, 'twill  be  so  vastly  good  for  him.  Little  Impington 

20 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


and  he  will  be  comrades.'  And  scarce  are  we  settled  at 
Impington  Court  with  as  good  entertainment — aye — and 
as  generous  ('tis  the  cellar  of  the  world  my  Lord  Mande- 
ville  has,  and  'tis  as  free  with  it  he  is — troth  as  I'd  be 
meself  if  my  Lady'd  let  me,  and  I  can  give  him  no  finer 
character !) — No  sooner  are  we  settled,  and  scarce  a  cork 
drawn  ye  may  say,  but  'tis :  'Little  Impington  is  too  rough 
for  our  darling  Denis.  He  will  teach  him  ill  ways,  he  will 
do  him  a  hurt.  And  Impington  Court  is  a  thought  too 
low  for  the  child's  health.  And  we  must  move  on  to  Chel- 
tenham, my  love,  or  there  will  not  be  a  lodging  to  be  had.' 
And  you  should  have  seen  the  farewells,  the  clingings,  the 
embracings,  and  the  tears,  and  heard  the  promises.  'We 
shall  meet  again  soon,  my  dearest,  dearest  Rachel.  I  vow 
I'll  not  be  parted  from  the  most  cherished  of  my  friends.' 
And  now  'tis :  'Keep  away — little  Denis  hath  a  spot !' — To 
be  sure,  our  dearest  Rachel  must  not  cast  a  blight  over 
my  Lady's  Court  prospects." 

"But  why,  pray  you,  why,  my  Lord  Kilcroney,  should 
my  Lady  Mandeville  cast  a  blight  ?  Is  she  not  in  the  Court 
favor?" 

Mistress  Molly's  tones  were  as  insinuating  as  the  fillet 
of  sweetness  that  issues  from  a  flute;  nevertheless,  Denis 
starting  from  his  black  mood,  gave  her  a  sudden  odd  look. 

"Prithee,  why,  my  Lord?" 

Kitty  was  in  the  right  of  it.  The  little  jade  was  as 
false  as  loaded  dice!  As  if  every  one  did  not  know  poor 
Rachel's  story ;  how  she  had  been  a  Quaker  and  an  actress, 
and  my  Lord  Mandeville's  mistress  before  she  had  been  his 
wife;  and  how,  save  for  that  one  stain,  which  indeed  had 
been  the  fall  of  a  pure  woman  piteously  and  devotedly  in 
love,  she  had  shone  in  a  wicked  world,  the  noblest  example 
to  her  sex. 

21 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Mistress  Lafone  caught  my  Lord's  look  upon  her  and 
deemed  it  time  to  depart.  Without  waiting,  therefore,  for 
his  reply  to  her  question,  she  feigned  horror  at  the  lateness 
of  the  hour,  and  bustled  away  from  the  Kilcroney  lodg- 
ings, malcontent  with  her  visit,  the  more  so  that  my  Lord 
Kilcroney  brought  a  wooden  countenance  and  a  dry  man- 
ner to  the  very  hall  door. 

She  went  forth  down  the  single  street  and  across  the 
meadows ;  for  her  rooms  were  in  an  out-of-the-way  cottage, 
far  from  the  fashionable  quarter  patronized  by  the  well- 
to-do.  Mrs.  Laf one's  fortunes  were  indeed  at  a  low  ebb. 
Her  elderly,  niggardly  husband  had  vowed  some  time  ago 
that  he  would  pay  no  more  debts  for  her  and  he  was 
keeping  his  vow.  In  her  efforts  at  self-extrication,  Mis- 
tress Molly,  not  having  a  scrupulous  delicacy  of  conduct, 
had  become  further  considerably  entangled.  A  scandal 
threatened  which  might  be  the  undoing  of  her.  And  there 
was  my  Lady  Kilcroney  not  only  declining  to  help  her,  but 
as  good  as  turning  her  out  of  the  house! 

Molly  Lafone  was  sharp  of  scent  as  a  weasel.  It  was 
unpleasantly  clear  to  her  that  the  irate  great  lady  was 
determined  to  seize  the  first  opportunity  of  cutting  her 
altogether ;  and  when  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  leader  of  society 
as  she  was,  cast  her  off,  she  would  be  lost  indeed.  She 
had  no  thought  in  her  breast,  as  she  walked  along  the  road 
between  the  flat  fields,  but  the  longing  to  pay  Kitty  out. 

The  way  was  deserted.  Evening  shadows  were  length- 
ening across  the  mellowness  of  the  sun-steeped  plain. 
Molly  Lafone  slackened  her  pace.  Why,  indeed,  should 
she  hurry  back  to  the  stuffy  little  room  where  she  could 
afford  herself  no  better  supper  than  bread  and  milk? 

Truly,  if  there  are  angels  who  reward  the  virtuous,  there 
must  be  little  demons  who  provide  dainties  for  those  who 

22 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


serve  the  ways  of  evil! — There,  just  at  her  feet,  shining 
quite  golden  in  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun,  lay  a  letter. 

It  lay  so  that  its  superscription  was  visible  and  Molly 
could  hardly  believe  her  eyes  when  she  read  in  Kitty's 
writing  the  words:  "For  the  hand  of  My  Lady,  The 
Countess  Mandeville." 

"The  ?areless  fellow,"  said  she,  "he's  dropped  it  from 
his  belt  as  he  jogged  along.  Pshaw,  how  I  hate  a  clumsy 
fool!" 

Then  she  laughed  shrilly.  "My  Lady  Mandeville  will 
never  get  her  Kitty's  affectionate  answer,  nor  hear  how 
little  Denis  hath  a  spot,  and  she  will  come  driving  in  to- 
morrow to  hang  herself  and  her  tarnished  name  round 
Kitty's  neck  for  all  Cheltenham  to  see,  under  the  nose  of 
the  virtuous  Queen  Charlotte.  That  is  very  well  done!" 
cried  Molly.  "That  is  a  very  fit  punishment  for  such 
base  intentions.  I  am  very  glad." 

And  lest  any  one  should  be  busybody  enough  to  pick 
up  the  dropped  letter  and  forward  it  to  its  destination, 
which  would  be  a  sad  interference  with  the  just  action  of 
Providence,  Mistress  Lafone  picked  it  up  herself  and 
minced  it  into  small  pieces  as  she  walked  along  towards  her 
cottage  lodging.  She  had  quite  a  good  appetite  for  her 
bread  and  milk  that  night. 

It  had  been  my  Lady  Kilcroney's  intention  to  keep  her 
cherished  little  Denis  in  his  cot  for  the  space  of  at  least 
a  day,  for,  indeed,  there  was  more  than  one  red  mark  on 
the  satin  of  his  small  plump  body,  and  Kitty  vowed  it  was 
of  a  piece  with  the  rest  of  my  Lord's  brutality  to  declare 
that  those  who  leave  their  own  homes  for  the  discomforts 
of  lodgings  must  expect  the  occasional  flea.  But  on  re- 
ceipt of  a  letter  sent  round  by  my  Lady  Flora's  own. 

23 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


woman,  she  promptly  altered  her  plans  and  ordered  the 
protesting  cherub  to  be  arrayed  in  his  best  robe-coat  cov- 
ered with  fine  muslin  and  his  white  satin  hat  with  feathers. 
My  Lord,  as  soon  as  his  infant's  roars  had  been  soothed 
by  candies,  picked  up  the  letter  which  Kitty  had  dropped 
on  the  floor  in  her  hurried  exit  to  her  bedchamber;  and, 
while  his  Lady  was  alternately  pealing  at  her  bell  and 
shouting  for  Lydia,  without  compunction  read  it. 

"My  dearest  Lady  Kilcroney,  'tis  all  arranged.  I  con- 
sider my  freedom  well  purchased  at  the  price  of  the  rose- 
point  flounce,  and  the  service  to  a  friend,  no  less,  by  the 
trimmings  to  match.  Her  Majesty  received  me  in  her 
closet  last  evening  and  the  matter  was  settled  quick,  I 
must  confess,  dearest  Kitty,  with  all  the  'veneration9  and 
'love'  (these  words  were  heavily  underlined)  that  I  cherish 
for  Her  August  Person,  I  did  feel  it  hard  to  find  that  my 
poor  feet  were  represented  as  the  dropsy.  Dropsy,  my 
love.  And  I  but  turned  of  thirty!  'You  should  have 
warned  me,'  said  Her  Majesty,  'that  you  were  suffering 
from  a  disease.9  'Ma'am,9  said  I,  'if  disease  there  is' — (/ 
was  afraid  to  deny  it,  dear  Kitty,  lest  the  fetters  should 
not  be  struck  off  my  aching  ankles) — '  'twas  contracted  in 
Your  Majesty's  service.9  And  now  if  my  Kilcroney  has 
a  taste  for  gilded  slavery,  though  there's  less  gilding  than 
you  would  believe,  let  her  be  at  the  entrance  of  the  Pump- 
room,  to  receive  Her  Majesty  at  the  head  of  the  other 
lady  visitors,  on  Her  first  visit  thither  this  very  morning 
at  eleven  o'clock.  The  gentlemen-in-waiting  are  inforni'- 
ing  the  other  notabilities  and  Her  Majesty  is  prepared 
for  the  little  ceremony  which  she  desires  shall  have  the 
appearance  of  an  Impromptu,  it  being  her  wish  to  avoid 
state  during  the  Royal  Visit  and  not  to  be  incommoded  by 

24 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


the  crowd.  If  your  little  Denis  'were  to  offer  a  bunch  of 
roses,  it  would,  I  think,  please  the  Queen,  who  likes  to  see 
ladies  occupied  of  their  children  and  is  interested  in  any 
who  are  about  the  age  of  the  Princess  Amelia.  From 
what  Mrs.  Schwellenberg — oh!  Kitty,  to  think  of  that 
toad  festooned  about  with  my  lace — hath  wrote  to  me 
(Thank  God  we  have  left  the  'frog-fancier'  behind  at 
Windsor!)  I  understand  you  can  consider  the  appoint- 
ment as  good  as  made " 

The  letter  dropped  from  Kilcroney's  hand.  His  good- 
natured  face  (for  in  spite  of  tantrums  he  was  to  the  core 
a  man  of  good  nature)  clouded  with  genuine  dismay. 
It  looked  as  if  the  plaguy  business,  which  he  had  re- 
garded in  the  light  of  a  mere  game,  was  like  to  turn  to 
earnest. 

Why,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  a  woman  with  all  the 
world  could  give  her,*  and  a  devoted  husband  besides, 
should  break  up  her  family  life  for  the  pleasures  of  an 
annual  three  months'  slavery  (Lady  Florence  had  well 
named  it)  passed  his  comprehension ! 

"Nay,  Lydia,"  Kitty's  voice  was  uplifted  in  the  other 
room,  "take  back  the  tabby ;  aye  and  the  satin  cloak  from 
Madame  Mirabel's.  I  have  thought  better  of  it,  child. 
Put  away  the  Eglantine  new  hat  with  the  feathers.  I  will 
wear  muslin  and  the  straw.  I  wish  to  Heaven,"  cried  Kitty 
pettishly,  "that  there  was  a  milliner  in  the  Kingdom  who 
could  run  up  a  hat  to  suit  a  lady's  eyelashes  or  the  tilt  of 
her  nose,  outside  Paris." 

"There's  the  Italian  straw  we  bought  last  time  we  was 
staying  over  there  at  Madame  the  Duchess's,"  said  Lydia 
tentatively,  "the  same  your  Ladyship  ordered  for  yourself 
to  wear  at  the  Feet  at  Trianon  to  which  the  French  Queen 

25 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


asked  us — and  a  sweet  elegant  creature  Her  Majesty  is 
with  all  her  fancies  for  dairies  and  such — and  the  thunder- 
storm coming  on  it  was  the  disappointment  of  the  world 
and  one  that  I  am  not  like  to  forget  in  a  hurry!  Sure 
your  Ladyship  ain't  forgotten  it.  A  plain  rice  straw  with 
a  ribbon  round  but  with  a  set  to  it !  Aye,  and  trimmed  by 
my  own  blood  niece,  as  is  apprenticed  to  Madame  Eglan- 
tine out  of  my  own  poor  savings;  me  being  always  one 
to  stand  by  my  family,  cost  what  it  do." 

"The  Italian  straw,"  my  lady  reflected ;  "  'twas  mon- 
strous thoughtful  of  you,  child,  to  pack  it — La,  Lydia  'tis 
the  very  thing — trimmed  by  your  niece  did  you  say  ?  Nay, 
only  the  genius  of  Eglantine  could  twist  a  bow  like  that. 
Put  it  on  my  head.  Why  'tis  perfect — Aye,  I  will  wear 
it.  Her  Majesty  desires  simplicity." 

"Simplicity,  is  it?"  (Kilcroney  groaned.)  "God  help 
us  all !" 

As  Kitty  sallied  forth,  all  in  vapory  white,  fresh  and 
sweet  as  a  privet  blossom,  her  face  delicately  pink  under 
the  artful  shepherdess  hat,  Pompey  following  with  the 
great  rose  bunch  in  a  bandbox  and  little  Denis  trotting 
alongside  scarlet-cheeked  from  a  triumphant  battle  royal 
over  the  wearing  of  gloves,  my  Lord  looked  after  them  with 
some  melancholy. 

"I'll  stroll  along  presently  and  keep  in  the  background. 
I'd  not  like  to  be  blighting  Kitty's  prospects  after  the 
fashion  of  yonder  poor  Rachel.  By  all  accounts  Her 
Gracious  Majesty  Queen  Charlotte  is  no  more  like  to  fancy 
an  Irishman  than  the  unhappy  girl  who  has  a  mistake  to 
her  name." 

Kitty  had  determined  to  walk  to  the  Pump-room.  'Twas 
scarce  a  hundred  yards  away  and  "squeeze  those  crisp 
flounces  into  a  chair  before  they  had  served  their  pur- 

26 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


pose? — never!"  She  had  taken  but  a  few  steps  along  the 
street  when  who  should  cross  her  but  Mrs.  Lafone — Molly, 
all  in  the  modesty  of  lilac  dimity,  with  pensiveness,  some- 
thing even  approaching  penitence,  on  her  pert  face.  Kitty 
was  in  a  fair  humor,  and  as  her  little  enemy  flung  her  a 
deprecating  glance  of  green  eyes,  actually  paused  and 
smiled. 

"Whither  away,  Lafone?" 

"Alas,  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  stepping  into  the  Pump- 
room  anon  to  drink  my  glass  of  the  waters,  I  heard  as 
how  Her  Majesty  was  expected  and  how  you  and  the  other 
ladies  of  note  are  to  receive  her  on  this,  her  first  appear- 
ance   My  Lady  Kilcroney,  knowing  myself  so  unfit, 

feeling  myself  so  out  of  spirits,  I  deemed  it  more  becoming 
to  retire  till  all  was  over." 

Now  Kitty,  riding  on  the  top  of  the  wave,  was  a  trifle 
intoxicated.  It  was  in  a  tone  of  almost  royal  patronage 
that  she  exclaimed : 

"Why  should  you  miss  the  sight,  child?  You  could 
very  well  find  a  little  place  where  you  could  see  and  not 
be  seen.  Retrace  your  steps  with  me." 

"Oh!  my  Lady  Kilcroney,"  cried  Molly,  with  her  dra- 
matic clasp  of  the  hands,  "was  there  ever  any  one  so  truly 
benevolent  as  you  are !" 

Hanging  her  head,  the  little  minx  started  off,  a  humble 
step  behind  her  patroness,  and,  looking  over  his  shoulder 
at  her,  Denis  the  younger  was  fascinated  by  the  wicked 
mockery  on  her  face  and  nearly  fell  into  a  puddle  for 
staring. 

There  was  no  excitement  in  the  town,  for  Her  Majesty's 
intention  was  known  but  to  the  favored  few.  The  Royal 
Family,  it  was  bruited,  were  still  reposing  from  the 
fatigues  of  their  journey.  There  was,  however,  a  small 

27 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


group  of  gentlemen  about  the  Pump-room  doors  in  elegant 
morning  attire,  and  two  or  three  barouches  and  as  many 
chairs  were  in  the  very  act  of  depositing  their  fair  burdens 
as  Lady  Kilcroney  sailed  up.  She  was  just  in  time,  in- 
deed, to  see  Lady  Verney — black-browed  Susan  panting, 
flushed,  incredibly  plumed,  hurl  herself  out  of  her  hired 
sedan.  At  sight  of  Kitty  this  personage  halted  in  her 
rush  forward  into  the  Pump-room. 

"You  here,  dear  Kilcroney?"  Her  voice  shook.  There 
was  fury  in  her  eye. 

"Even  so,  dear  Verney.  Pray,  my  Lord  Courtown,  shall 
I  take  my  stand  on  this  spot? — Hither  with  the  flowers, 
Pompey.  My  little  son  is  to  offer  these  to  Her  Majesty; 
Colonel  Digby,  certainly  'twould  be  a  mercy  if  you  would 
have  the  kindness  to  hold  them  till  the  right  moment 
comes.  Such  tender  years  are  scarcely  to  be  trusted! 
Nay,  Denis,  lambkin,  no  more  sugar  plums  till  we  get  home 
again,  or  little  pandies  would  be  so  sticky.  Denis  couldn't 
give  the  nosegay  to  the  beautiful  Queen.  What  a  pity,  my 
dearest  Susan,  you  should  have  made  yourself  so  fine.  By 
Her  Majesty's  most  express  wish,  all  is  to  have  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  simplest  impromptu !  Still,  my  skirts  are 
fairly  wide.  If  you  place  yourself  behind  me — 

Place  herself  behind  Kitty!  Had  her  beloved  friend 
run  mad,  she  that  was  always  so  flighty?  My  Lady  Verney 
to  place  herself  in  the  rear,  be  hidden  by  another's 
flounces,  she  who  had  posted  day  and  night,  all  the  way 
from  Hertfordshire,  upon  the  news  of  a  probable  vacancy 
about  the  Queen's  person !  Was  it  possible  that  Kitty, 
with  her  Irish  husband,  labeled  with  such  a  name,  could 
fancy  that  she  was  like  to  meet  with  the  Queen's  favor? 
Susan  was  sorry  for  her  poor  friend.  She  tossed  her 

28 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


head  with  a  snort.     My  Lady  Verney  had  something  of 
>the  appearance  of  a  handsome  horse. 

But  stupefaction  succeeded  indignation  when  Lord 
Courtown,  very  civilly  addressing  her,  begged  her  to  take 
her  place  with  the  other  ladies  in  the  rear  of  my  Lady 
Kilcroney  for  the  Royal  party  might  be  expected  any 
moment. 

"Mrs.  Tracy,  ma'am,  as  one  conversant  in  these  matters 
will  you  stand  at  my  Lady's  elbow?  (My  Lady  Kilcroney, 
Mrs.  Tracy — Her  Majesty's  Senior  Bedchamber  Woman, 
who  is  at  the  Waters  on  her  own  account.") 

My  Lady  Verney,  biting  her  lip,  stamped  heavily  on 
her  neighbor's  foot  as  she  shifted  her  position.  Turning 
at  the  low  cry,  her  fierce  black  eyes  met  the  plaintive 
green  ones  of  Mrs.  Lafone,  who,  in  spite  of  her  discreet 
protestations,  had  taken  as  forward  a  place  in  the  group 
as  well  she  could.  As  a  rule,  Molly  was  in  no  better  favor 
with  Susan  Verney  than  with  the  rest  of  the  coterie,  but  at 
that  moment  they  shared  a  sentiment  which  made  them 
suddenly  and  momentarily  sympathetic. 

"Oh,  my  Lady  Verney,"  whispered  Molly,  "did  you  ever 
see  any  one  so  sadly  cocked  up  as  our  poor  Kitty?  It 
frightens  me  for  her,  it  does,  indeed.  I  fear  such  pride 
must  have  a  fall." 

Although  Susan  could  see  no  sign  of  this  prognostica- 
tion being  fulfilled,  it  comforted  her  nevertheless ;  and  she 
was  able  to  ,bear,  with  a  better  equanimity  than  any  who 
knew  her  would  have  thought  possible,  the  painful  spec- 
tacle of  my  Lady  Kilcroney's  success  with  the  Queen. 
Success  it  indubitably  was,  though  Her  Majesty  was  a 
dry  woman  and  not  given  to  displays  of  affability.  It 
was  evident  that  she  had  come  prepared  to  be  pleased  with 
Kitty  Kilcroney  and  that  pleased  she  found  herself.  And 

29 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


truly,  Kitty  in  her  snowy  flounces,  so  charmingly  blushing 
under  her  wide-brimmed  hat — which  was  indeed  trimmed 
by  Miss  Pamela  Pounce — Kitty  so  daintily  maternal  with 
the  sturdy  little  boy  clutching  his  roses,  was  as  pretty 
a  picture  as  any  would  wish  to  gaze  upon. 

The  two  blooming  Princesses  exclaimed  upon  the  darling 
child,  and  good-natured  Lady  Flo  was  one  broad  beam 
behind  "her  Royals"  back.  And  if  Kitty  blushed  she  had 
nevertheless  the  most  elegant  ease.  Her  curtsy  was  a 
model ;  the  dignified  modesty  with  which  she  advanced  and 
then  retreated  within  the  due  measure  of  etiquette  was 
perfect  of  its  kind.  And  when  the  incident  took  place, 
which  might  indeed  have  proved  awkward,  of  Master  Denis' 
declining  to  part  with  his  posy,  his  mother  saved  the  situa- 
tion. "Denis,"  quoth  she — bending  but  not  whispering,  all 
with  a  modest  assurance  that  could  not  have  been  bettered 
by  one  who  had  been  years  at  Court — "lambkin,  do  you 
not  remember  what  I  bid  you?  To  whom  were  you  to  offer 
these  flowers?" 

"To  the  beautiful  Queen,"  said  the  child,  his  great 
brown  eyes  roaming  about  as  if  he  were  seeking — as  well 
he  might,  poor  innocent! — whom  the  description  might 
fit.  The  Queen,  with  a  flattered  smile,  herself  took  the 
offering  from  his  chubby  fingers. 

"Pretty  rogue!"  said  Princess  Augusta. 

When  the  other  introductions  had  been  gone  through  it 
seemed  to  be  nobody's  business  to  present  Mistress  Lafone ; 
and  though  the  equerries  looked  tentatively  at  her  and 
then  at  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  nothing  could  be  less  re- 
sponsive than  that  usually  alert  being.  So  Molly  made 
an  artless  curtsy  as  became  her  simplicity,  and  thought, 
in  her  disloyal  heart,  how  frumpish  and  dowdy  Her  Maj- 
esty looked,  and  wondered  if  'twas  Miss  Burney  who  ap- 

30 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


peared  so  shortsighted  and  awkward  and  timid,  with  no 
more  air  than  nothing  at  all.  And  save  for  the  gentlemen 
who  were  very  personable  and  had  bright  looks  about  them 
as  if  they  might  be  enjoyable  company  to  a  woman  of 
spirit,  there  was  really  naught  in  this  vision  of  the  Court 
which  would  make  her,  little  Molly,  yearn  for  it — a  vast 
stiffness  and  dullness  indeed !  If  it  had  not  been  that  needs 
must  when  the  devil  drives  she  would  have  snapped  her 
slender  fingers  and  "thank  you,"  but  as  matters  stood — 
the  drowning  do  not  pause  to  contemplate  the  quality  of 
the  spar  flung  to  them. 

Mrs.  Lafone  looked  vindictively  at  Kitty  and  then 
turned  a  watchful  glance  at  the  door.  She  wondered  how 
soon  and  in  what  circumstances  Kitty's  dearest  friend,  who 
was  not  received  at  Court,  might  make  her  appearance. 
However  Kitty  might  strive  to  hide  the  visit,  Mrs.  Lafone 
would  take  care  that  it  should  be  known  of;  she  had  but 
to  whisper  the  fact  to  my  Lady  Verney  and  she  did  not 
doubt  that  the  Royal  occupants  of  Fauconberg  Hall  would 
promptly  be  in  possession  of  the  damning  fact.  Other 
people  could  put  spokes  in  wheels  besides  my  Lady  Kil- 
croney ;  and  the  more  swiftly  they  were  rolling  to  favor, 
the  greater  might  be  the  upset ! 

Her  Majesty,  talking  very  affably  to  Kitty,  had  ad- 
vanced toward  the  counter  where  the  waters  were  dis- 
tributed. Here  divers  magnates  of  the  town  were  await- 
ing her  whom  the  Comptroller  of  the  Household,  my  Lord 
Courtown,  named  to  her,  one  after  the  other.  Kitty  and 
her  group  of  ladies  were  left  thus  for  the  moment  outside 
the  Royal  circle  of  attention.  The  hall  by  this  time  con- 
tained a  certain  number  of  curious  spectators,  very  re- 
spectfully aligned  against  the  walls,  for  the  public  of 
Cheltenham,  genteel,  quiet  folk,  would  have  died  rather 

31 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


than  presume  on  Her  Majesty's  condescending  informal- 
ity. 

"Pray,"  said  the  Queen,  to  Mr.  Clark  the  town  doctor, 
"let  me  have  a  taste  of  the  water,  sir,  to  drink,  which  the 
King  has  been  sent  hither.  I  ought  at  least  to  know,"  she 
added  archly,  "to  what  penance  he  hath  been  condemned." 

She  sipped  and  declared  she  had  expected  worse; 
Princess  Royal  and  Princess  Augusta  also  sipped,  but 
they  cried  out  and  protested  that  they  were  sorry  for 
dear  papa.  And  while  the  Royal  pleasantries  were  pro- 
ducing the  most  exquisite  if  refined  mirth  throughout  the 
whole  assembly,  Mrs.  Lafone,  who  had  been  agreeably  con- 
scious that  she  was  the  object  of  considerable  interest  to 
one  of  the  equerries  (indeed,  he  was  lifting  his  quizzing 
glass  to  mark  his  notice),  perceived  his  glance  wander 
from  herself  and  become  fixed.  He  dropped  his  quizzing 
glass,  the  better  to  see ;  a  warmth  of  wondering  admira- 
tion, prodigious  different  from  the  familiar  ogle  she  had 
herself  evoked,  wrote  itself  on  his  countenance.  But  for 
the  presence  of  Royalty,  she  thought  he  might  have  ex- 
claimed out  loud.  Molly's  glance  promptly  followed  his. 
She  could  hardly  believe  her  eyes.  Here  was  fate  playing 
her  game  with  a  vengeance.  Her  enemy  was  delivered  into 
her  hands.  Every  one  knew  the  face  of  Rachel  Peace! 

My  Lady  Mandeville  advanced,  clad,  like  Kitty  herself, 
in  white,  but  with  a  flutter  of  gray  ribbons  here  and  there 
to  mark  her  Quaker  preference.  Her  delicate  pale  face 
was  faintly  flushed  under  the  wide  brim  of  her  simple 
hat.  She  was  not  less  fair  than  the  pearls  at  her  throat, 
not  less  shining  in  delicate  beauty.  She  held  by  the  hand 
a  noble  boy,  slightly  older  than  little  Denis,  who  marched 
as  if  the  place  belonged  to  him  and  gazed  about  under 

32 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


frowning  brows  as  though  he  wondered  who  dared  occupy 
it  without  his  permission. 

If  Kitty  made  a  charming  picture  with  her  little  son, 
Rachel  with  the  heir  of  Mandeville,  graceful  and  gracious, 
with  a  lovely  tenderness  emanating  from  her,  was  the  very 
embodiment  of  sweet  motherhood. 

She  came  across  the  wide  hall  with  swift  step,  looking 
from  right  to  left,  a  smile  hovering  on  her  lips,  her  seeking 
eyes  already  lit  with  fond  pleasure.  Where  was  her  dear 
Kitty?  Suddenly  she  stopped — the  smile  faded,  the  light 
of  the  expectant  gaze  went  out,  shadow  fell  upon  her 
radiance,  a  flutter  as  of  fear  shook  her;  yet  she  had  but 
encountered  the  gaze  of  my  Lady  Verney.  Susan  Verney, 
who  was  very  well  acquainted  with  Rachel  Mandeville,  who 
had  indeed  tasted  of  her  hospitality,  both  in  town  and 
in  the  country,  now  withered  her  with  a  blasting  stare  of 
denegation,  a  stare  which  said:  "My  Lady  Mandeville,  I 
am  pure  virtue  to-day,  I  do  not  know  you" 

The  room  was  all  eyes  to  look  at  Rachel,  and  though  so 
decorous  it  was  all  whispers. 

The  next  moment  the  poor  thing  saw  the  Queen  and  the 
Princesses  and  Kitty  Kilcroney  white  as  death  and  good 
Lady  Flora  scarlet  in  the  face;  she  saw  and  understood. 
Motionless  she  strove  to  rally  her  courage.  She  wanted 
strength  of  heart  and  clearness  of  mind  to  do  just  what 
would  be  right ;  Quaker  Rachel  who  had  never  done  wrong 
but  once !  And  for  that  breathless  moment,  unknown  to 
herself,  her  eyes  hung  on  Kitty's  face ;  and  Kitty's  eyelids 
were  cast  down. 

The  little  Viscount  Impington  tugged  at  her  hand.  His 
was  an  impatient  spirit. 

"Come  on,  Mamma,"  cried  he,  in  loud  authority;  and 
at  the  same  moment  little  Denis  O'Hara  raised  a  piping 

33 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


cry:  "Imp,  Imp,  Imp!"  and  tearing  himself  from  the 
maternal  clasp,  galloped  across  the  room  to  hurl  himself 
upon  his  baby  comrade. 

The  Queen  looked  at  Kitty  with  an  air  of  profound 
surprise  and  disapproval  and  Kitty  looked  back  at  the 
Queen.  And  her  heart  rose  within  her;  for,  with  all  her 
foibles  and  fancies,  she  had  a  heart. 

It  led  her  then  to  do  the  noblest  act  of  her  whole  exist- 
ence. 

Holding  herself  very  erect  and  moving  with  a  beautiful 
dignity,  she  slowly  backed  the  length  of  the  room  that 
divided  her  from  Rachel  Mandeville ;  and,  keeping  her 
eyes  on  the  Royal  face  the  while,  she  took  her  friend  by 
the  hand.  Then  she  stood  very  upright  and  waited. 
Rachel  could  do  naught  else  but  wait  too. 

In  the  dead  silence  the  Queen  prepared  to  take  her 
departure. 

Little  Mr.  O'Hara  and  my  Lord  Impington  were  begin- 
ning to  show  signs  of  following  up  their  affectionate  greet- 
ing with  a  rough-and-tumble  fight  and  each  mother  had 
to  take  possession  of  her  child  and  keep  him  firmly  held ; 
but  they  kept  tighter  hold  of  each  other  still. 

The  Royal  group  advanced,  the  kindly  young  Princesses 
with  awed  looks,  as  if  they  felt  how  ill  things  were  going 
without  understanding.  When  she  reached  my  Lady  Kil- 
croney  and  her  friend,  Queen  Charlotte  paused  and  seemed 
to  hesitate.  She  cast  a  strange,  troubled  glance  at  the 
two  young  women  and  Kitty  and  Rachel  fell,  still  clasping 
hands,  into  a  great  curtsy.  And  the  question  was,  which 
of  the  two  made  it  with  a  nobler  grace. 

The  last  of  the  equerries  to  follow  looked  back  at  the 
door,  and  saw  my  Ladies  Mandeville  and  Kilcroney  em- 

34 


THE  ITALIAN  HAT 


bracing  and  kissing  and  he  thought  they  were  both  in 
tears. 

My  Lord  Kilcroney  had  been  among  those  who  unob- 
trusively joined  the  spectators  in  the  Pump-room  during 
the  Royal  visitation,  and,  beholding  the  scene,  his  own  eyes 
filled.  In  the  effort  to  regain  his  self-control  he  turned 
his  dimmed  gaze  away  from  the  two  who  enfolded  each 
other  in  such  affecting  and  unaffected  friendship  and  it 
fell  upon  Mistress  Lafone.  As  had  been  a  while  ago  his 
son  and  heir,  he  was  fascinated  by  the  expression  on  the 
small  pale  visage ;  Molly  caught  his  riveted  glance,  wilted 
beneath  it,  and  somehow  vanished.  Not  my  Lord  Kil- 
croney nor  any  one  else  could  ever  as  much  as  guess  at  her 
share  in  the  morning's  business ;  yet  so  does  conscience 
make  cowards  of  us  all,  as  Mr.  Shakespeare  has  it. 

My  Lord  kissed  his  wife's  hand  before  most  respectfully 
saluting  that  of  my  Lady  Mandeville.  At  sight  of  him 
Kitty  mingled  laughter  with  her  tears. 

"Is  it  not  delightful,  Denis,"  cried  she,  "that  our  sweet 
Rachel  should  have  had  this  happy  thought? — But,  oh, 
my  dear  love,  our  little  rascals  are  at  fisticuffs  again!" 

"My  dear  Kitty"  wrote  Lady  Florence  that  evening, 
in  a  letter  brought  round  from  Fauconberg  Hall  by  one 
of  the  pages  in  waiting,  "/  thought  you  were  dished,  I  did, 
•ndeed.  And  of  all  the  odd  tiresome  contretemps,  my 
love — well,  I  have  not  time  to  say  even  a  word  of  what 
I  felt.  Her  Majesty  is  not  fond  of  audacities  and  you  did, 
dearest  Kitty,  the  most  audacious  deed — well,  never  mind 
again! 

"  'Twas  your  hat  did  the  trick  to  begin  with,  my  love, 
you  was  always  so  clever  about  clothes,  Kitty.  Sure,  it 
was  the  finest  inspiration  to  wear  that  modest  country 

35 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


straw  with  its  plain  ribbon.  It  caught  Her  Majesty's  eye 
from  the  first  moment,  and  that  you  know  means  so  much. 
So  modest,  sensible  and  quiet  you  showed  beside  poor 
Susan!  Susan,  with  that  tow-row  of  feathers  on  her  head! 
'Tis  she  who  is  dished  after  all:  'A  loud  young  woman,' 
says  the  Queen  to  me.  'I  do  not  approve  of  Lady  Verney's 
style.'  And  what  must  she  do  on  the  top  of  it  but  present 
herself  in  my  parlor  at  Fauconberg  Hall  this  very  after- 
noon?— a  vast  piece  of  presumption,  since  the  Queen  hath 
forbidden  visitors  to  all  and  sundry! — and  wants  an  in- 
terview with  Her  Majesty,  to  apologize — prithee,  Kitty, 
think  of  it!— for  Her  Majesty's  having  been  exposed  to 
such  a  meeting.  She,  to  apologize  for  the  town!  She,  to 
cast  her  stone  at  poor  Rachel!  I  have  never  known  my 
Royal  so  angry.  'Are  you  then  not  acquainted  with  my 
Lady  Mandeville?'  she  asks  of  Verney.  You  should  have 
seen  Susan's  face  under  her  red  plumes.  (7  had  taken 
good  care  Her  Majesty  should  know  we  all  were.)  To  be 
brief,  Kitty,  Verney  went  forth  with  her  comb  considerably 
cut,  and  Her  Majesty  took  a  twist  in  the  other  direction 
and  spoke  very  kind  to  me;  though  regretting  the  inci- 
dent, she  said  she  could  not  find  too  grave  a  fault  with  a 
display  of  loyalty.  'Tell  my  Lady  Kilcroney,'  she  says, 
'that  about  My  Person  I  appreciate  loyalty!' ' 

Denis  Kilcroney  heard  the  contents  of  this  missive  with 
a  grave  countenance.  Then,  looking  at  his  wife's  charm- 
ing face,  all  irradiated  between  the  joys  of  her  good  con- 
science and  its  unexpected  reward,  he  exclaimed  generously 
that  it  was  a  proud  day  for  the  House  of  O'Hare. 
"Though,"  he  added,  "the  proudest  moment  of  it  all  was 
when  I  saw  you  stand  by  your  friend,  me  darling  girl!" 


CHAPTER  II 

IN  WHICH  MISS   PAMELA  POUNCE  IS  OBDERED  TO  PACK 

PAMELA  POUNCE  sat  with  the  bunch  of  cowslips  in 
one  hand  and  the  lid  of  the  ribbon  box  in  the  other ; 
she  had  fallen  into  a  profound  muse. 

It  was  the  cowslips,  though  they  were  but  artifice,  which 
had  set  her  active  brain  thus  suddenly  and  idly  daydream- 
ing. They  had  brought  her  back  with  a  rush  to  the  old 
farm  where  she  had  been  born  and  brought  up.  The 
whole  surroundings  of  her  exile  had  vanished.  She  was 
no  longer  in  the  big,  bare,  stuffy,  untidy  workroom  at  the 
back  of  Madame  Eglantine's  celebrated  Paris  hat  shop: 
in  the  center  of  snippets  and  straws,  feathers,  fringes, 
flowers  and  other  fashionable  fripperies,  under  the  glare  of 
the  skylight,  with  the  patter  and  gabble  of  French  voices, 
the  click  of  scissors,  the  long-drawn  sighs  or  quick  pants 
of  energetic  stitching,  the  rustle  of  crumpled  silks,  in  her 
ears,  and  in  her  nostrils  the  indescribable  atmosphere  of 
the  atelier,  as  it  was  called.  An  apartment  hermetically 
sealed  to  the  outer  airs,  save  what  might  penetrate  of 
them  through  the  opening  of  its  doors,  redolent  of  the 
gums  of  artificial  flowers,  of  last  year's  and  this  morning's 
succulent  cookery — Monsieur  Ildefonse,  the  husband  of 
Madame  Eglantine,  liked  a  point  of  garlic  in  most  dishes — 
and  of  the  faint,  sickly  scents  of  hair  powder  and  fine 
ladies*  perfumes  which  hung  about  the  whole  establish- 
ment. There  were  other  odors  in  the  workroom  besides, 
of  which  the  less  said  the  better.  It  was  little  wonder  that 
Pamela  Pounce  should  now  and  again  feel  her  splendid 

37 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


vitality  slacken;  that  she  should  have  fined  down  consid- 
erably from  a  country  buxomness  since  she  had  joined 
Madame  Eglantine's  staff. 

But  the  bunch  of  cowslips  had  brought  her  away — far 
away  from  it  all  for  a  blissful  moment. 

She  was  back  again  at  home.  The  exquisite  freshness 
of  an  early  summer  morning  on  the  Kentish  downs  en- 
compassed her.  Her  young  bosom  lifted  with  ecstasy. 
Oh!  the  breath  of  England:  pungent  of  the  sea,  sweet  of 
the  moorland  herbs,  free  from  the  hills  and  whispering  of 
the  woods,  was  there  ever  anything  like  it?  There  was  a 
fragrance  of  bread  making,  too,  from  mother's  oven  and  a 
lovely  reek  of  burning  weeds  where  father  was  busy  over 
the  potato  fields ! 

Pamela  started.  A  voice,  sharp  as  a  penknife,  had  re- 
called her  to  reality. 

"Ah,  Meess" — she  went  by  no  other  name  in  this  French 
servitude  either  from  her  employer  or  her  sister  workers. 
It  was  an  unconscious  tribute  to  a  certain  fine  apartness 
of  character  as  well  as  to  her  British  independence.  "Ah, 
Meess,"  cried  Madame  Eglantine,  "is  this  how  I  find  you? 
Asleep  with  your  eyes  open !  My  faith,  is  this  how  you 
conduct  yourself  in  the  thick  of  the  business  hours?  And 
the  Marquise  who  expects  that  hat  by  noon !" 

Pamela  opened  her  daydreaming  eyes  full  upon  the 
speaker,  gave  an  inaudible  sigh  and  a  small  ironic  smile. 
She  did  not  start  or  blush  or  show  any  sign  either  of  flurry 
or  vexation  at  the  acrid  accent  of  the  rebuke ;  she  was  too 
completely  mistress  of  herself  for  that.  Her  hand  hovered 
over  the  ribbon  box ;  then  with  a  decisive  movement  she 
nipped  a  shimmering  purple  roll  and  began  to  draw  out 
its  darkly  radiant  lengths. 

"Purple!"  ejaculated  Madame  Eglantine,  surprised  into 

38 


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a  quite  amiable  tone,  "purple  for  that  blond  Marquise 
who  is  not  yet  twenty !  And  she  means  to  wear  all  white 
muslins  with  lace  in  floods.  Did  I  not  tell  you  so?  That 
ribbon  I  bought  for  Madame  la  Gouvernante — it  is  for 
dowagers " 

She  broke  off  and  stared. 

Pamela  had  twisted  and  snipped  and  pinched  and  the 
hat  was  trimmed  in  what  her  famous  patronne  herself 
would  have  described  as  "un  tour  de  main"  She  now  held 
it  up  on  her  balled  hand  and  turned  it  slowly  from  side 
to  side. 

"But  it  is  a  stroke  of  genius!"  exclaimed  the  little 
Frenchwoman.  She  hated  Pamela,  but  she  was  above  all 
an  artist.  "No,  no,  do  not  touch  it  again,  no  one  must 
touch  it!  You  have  a  thousand  times  reason.  Blue  or 
green  or  pink — any  one  with  the  ordinary  mind  would 
have  blended  me  the  banal  pretty-pretty  with  those  cow- 
slips. The  Marquise  would  have  been  but  one  of  a  score 
of  shepherdesses,  no  more  distinguished  than  a  dragee  box 
for  a  baptism!  But  now " 

She  paused  and  waved  her  hands  before  the  delight  of 
the  mental  picture.  A  small,  dusky  woman  with  very 
bright  eyes  and  extraordinarily  swift  movements,  she  was 
like  some  quick,  furry  animal  of  the  mouse  tribe ;  a  greater 
contrast  to  the  fair,  large,  composed  English  girl  could 
hardly  be  imagined ;  yet  on  one  point  these  two  were  singu- 
larly akin.  Both  were  geniuses  in  the  same  restricted  yet 
fascinating  realm  of  art. 

If  there  was  a  creature  on  earth  capable  of  stepping 
straight  off  into  the  shoes  of  Madame  Eglantine,  first 
milliner  in  the  world  of  Fashion,  it  was  Pamela  Pounce,  the 
British  yeoman's  daughter! 

Perhaps  it  was  this  consciousness  of  her  rival's  merits 

39 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


which  made  the  Frenchwoman,  while  too  acute  of  intellect 
not  to  recognize  them,  regard  her  clever  apprentice  with 
feelings  which  approached  detestation.  Yet  she  was  soon 
to  find  another  cause. 

"I'd  better  put  in  the  stitches  myself,  I  suppose, 
M'dame?"  said  Pamela  tranquilly.  She  spoke  French 
fluently  by  this  time,  with  a  pronounced  if  not  unpleasing 
British  accentuation.  "The  young  ladies  are  so  fond  of 
sewing  things  to  death.  It's  like  a  hand  on  pastry,"  she 
went  on  meditatively,  as  she  bit  her  thread,  and  flung  a 
cool,  tantalizing  glance  at  the  irate  ring  of  countenances 
about  her.  "You  have,  or  you  haven't  got  it,  and  no  one 
to  blame." 

"That  will  do,  Meess.  There  is  too  much  conversation 
here,  Mademoiselle  Panache !"  Madame  hopped  spitefully 
from  Pamela  upon  the  directress,  who  sitting  large,  square 
and  sallow  at  the  center  table,  dispensing  materials,  had 
permitted  herself  a  gratified  smile  over  the  snubbing  of 
the  English  girl.  For  a  moment  or  two  there  was  silence 
in  the  overlighted,  underventilated  apartment.  The  sea- 
son was  early  July ;  a  blazing  white  sunshine  was  pouring 
down  through  the  casements  which  their  muffed  glass  but 
feebly  mitigated. 

Then  the  little  angry  sharp-toothed  mouse  that  was  the 
bland,  coaxing,  fluent  Eglantine  of  the  showroom  found 
a  fresh  grievance. 

"My  God,  Mademoiselle  Anatoline,  are  you  making  a 
bouquet  or  tying  bristles  on  a  broomstick?  And  Heaven 
pardon  me,  Mademoiselle  Eulalie,  but  if  those  hands  of 

yours  have  been  washed  since — since What  have  you 

been  doing  with  those  hands,  ma  file?  Blacking  the  boots 
or  scratching  your  head?" 

Anatoline,  who  was  large  and  fat  and  fair,  became  an 

40 


ORDERED  TO  PACK 


apoplectic  purple;  and  Eulalie,  who  was  the  color  of  a 
lemon  with  hair  like  a  raven's  wing,  turned  a  shade  more 
livid  than  nature  had  made  her. 

There  was  a  titter,  beginning  sycophantically  upon  the 
lips  of  Mademoiselle  Panache.  But  Pamela's  smooth  face, 
white  where  it  was  not  delicately  carnation,  might  have 
been  that  of  a  handsomely  tinted  statue.  She  cut  her 
thread,  tweaked  one  of  the  shimmering  purple  loops,  and 
once  again  putting  the  hat  on  her  clenched  hand,  gave  .;t 
a  little  shake.  The  creation  was  complete ! 

Madame's  swift,  beady  eye  rolled  in  her  direction. 

"Give  yourself  the  trouble  to  bring  that  upstairs  to  the 
showroom,  Meess,"  she  ordered.  "Madame  D'Aimargues 
said  she  would  call  herself  before  midday  to  try  it  on  be- 
fore it  was  sent.  I  will  join  you  presently  and  you  had 
better  remain  in  case  there  were  required  an  alteration." 

"Bien,  M'dame,"  Pamela  responded  with  some  alacrity. 
She  might  get  a  whiff  of  good  open  air  as  she  went  up  the 
stairs.  There  might  even  be  a  window  ajar  in  the  show- 
room. Such  a  miracle  had  been  known  to  occur  on  a  very 
hot  day. 

Monsieur  Ildefonse,  Eglantine's  husband,  was  sitting  in 
the  little  glass  cage  off  the  back  showroom,  pompously  re- 
ferred to  as  the  Bureau.  This  individual  had  once  been 
a  very  noted  personality;  no  other,  actually,  than  the 
French  Queen's  appointed  coiffeur;  in  consequence  sought 
after  in  frenzy  by  every  woman  with  the  smallest  pre- 
tension to  Fashion.  Fine  ladies  had  had  their  heads  dressed 
at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning ;  nay,  even  three  days  before 
some  special  assembly  at  Court.  To  be  able  to  say,  with 
a  toss  of  flying  vaporous  curls  exquisitely  redolent  of 
Poudre  a  la  Marechale:  "In  effect  my  dear  one,  Ildefonse's 
last  idea,  what  do  you  think  of  it?  It  is  succeeded.  Hein?" 

41 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


To  be  responded  to,  perchance,  with  a  cry  of  envy  and 
despair:  "Ildefonse!  You  managed  to  get  Ildefonse!" 
And  to  know  your  interlocutor,  younger  than  you  per- 
haps, and  prettier,  altogether  at  a  disadvantage.  "A  posi- 
tive frump,  my  dear !"  under  less  skillful  hands.  That  had 
been  to  reach  in  verity,  the  very  needlepeak  of  feminine 
triumph,  a  few  years  ago! 

But  star  succeeds  star ;  one  Monsieur  Charles  was  Court 
twiddler,  curler,  crimper,  frizzer,  and  general  head  artist. 
For  Monsieur  Ildefonse  had  come  into  heritage  and  re- 
tired. Not  a  fallen  star,  therefore,  merely  astronomically 
removed  to  another  hemisphere !  He  shone  now,  though,  it 
may  be  added,  with  a  doubtful  radiance  in  a  restricted 
connubial  circle ;  in  other  words,  he  sat  at  home  and  totted 
up  accounts  for  his  clever,  money-making  spouse;  made 
bargains  for  her  with  flower  manufacturers  and  mercers 
and  bullied  the  stewards  of  great  houses,  when  Madame  la 
Duchesse  or  Madame  la  Connetable  forgot  to  remember 
such  insignificances  as  the  settlement  of  bills. 

Unanimously  the  workgirls  adored  him,  with  the  single 
exception  of  Pamela;  and  the  relations  between  Madame 
Eglantine  and  her  consort,  characterized  in  public  by  the 
most  touching  demonstrativeness  were  regarded  as  the  very 
romance  of  matrimony.  But  Pamela  who  had  come  under 
the  glance,  more  often  than  she  cared,  of  Monsieur  Ilde- 
fonse's  slyly  roving  eye,  had  her  private  opinion. 

She  shuddered  from  him  as  she  had  shuddered  from  the 
fat,  sleek,  brown  slugs  that  came  out  after  rain  on  the 
garden  walls  at  home. 

As  a  little  girl  she  would  explain :  "  'Taint  that  I'm 
afraid,  you  see,  but  it  makes  me  creep." 

She  could  have  found  no  better  words  in  which  to  de- 

42 


ORDERED  TO  PACK 


scribe  the  effect  upon  her  of  the  fascinating  Monsieur 
Ildefonse. 

There  was  a  midday  lull  this  scorching  day,  even  in 
Madame  Eglantine's  thriving  establishment.  It  was  late 
season,  too,  and  save  for  orders  like  that  of  the  little 
Marquise  D'Aimargues,  for  such  as  were  privileged  to  join 
in  the  pastimes  of  Royal  hay-making  and  churning,  or  a 
stray  wedding  order,  business  was  slack  and  the  great 
little  milliner  herself  was  preparing  for  that  round  of  the 
most  noted  watering  places,  with  "just  a  few  models"  in 
her  baggage,  which  was  her  thrifty  fashion  of  spending  the 
holidays. 

Pamela  cast,  in  passing,  a  hasty  glance  between  the 
green  curtains  of  the  Bureau,  to  assure  herself  that  her 
pet  aversion  was  safely  employed. 

He  had  removed  his  wig  on  account  of  the  heat,  and  she 
turned  her  eyes  quickly  away  from  the  spectacle  of  his 
close-cropped,  bristling,  black  head,  and  the  roll  of  olive 
fat  at  the  back  of  his  neck  above  the  embroidered  collar 
of  his  blue  cloth  coat. 

The  pink,  be-padded,  be-wreathed,  be-gilded,  be-mir- 
rored,  be-draped  salons  of  Madame  Eglantine  were  empty. 
Pamela  walked  slowly  into  the  middle  of  the  front  room 
and  hesitated.  Her  own  charming  shape  was  reflected 
from  every  possible  angle.  Down  below,  the  whole  Place 
seemed  asleep ;  a  buzz  of  flies  within  and  without ;  a  lazy 
footfall  on  the  shady  side  and  a  distant  rumble  empha- 
sized the  universal  drowsiness.  When  Madame  la  Mar- 
quise's coach  came  along  there  would  be  a  prodigious  clat- 
ter to  wake  them  all  up.  Pamela  knew  that  she  was  quite 
safe.  It's  all  very  well  to  trim  a  hat.  You  never  know 
what  it's  like  till  you've  tried  it  on. 

Very  deliberately  she  divested  her  glossy  chestnut  hair 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


of  its  discreet  cap;  loosened  the  swelling  waves  a  trifle 
more  on  either  side  of  the  firm,  rose-tinted  ivory  of  her 
face. 

"If  a  dash  of  powder  was  for  poor  girls  like  me,  I 
wouldn't  be  too  bad-looking.  I'd  say  that  for  myself," 
she  thought,  and  firmly  set  the  hat  of  the  Marquise  at 
the  right  angle  over  her  radiant  brow. 

Well,  it  was  a  complete  success.  Like  every  true  artist 
she  was  doubly  critical  of  herself;  but  Pamela  had  to 
admit  that  she  could  find  no  flaw  in  her  own  taste;  and 
that  the  wide-brimmed,  curving  Italian  straw  with  its  bold 
sweep  of  purple  ribbon  and  its  hanging  bunches  of  cow- 
slips was  a  remarkably  fine  set-off  for  the  glory  of  her 
amber  hair  and  the  audacious  brilliance  of  her  complexion. 
Without  a  tinge  of  envy  or  discontent  she  surveyed  herself 
thoughtfully. 

"Upon  my  word,  Pamela  Pounce,  my  girl!"  she  was 
fond  of  addressing  herself  mentally,  as  if  it  were  her 
strong  reasonable  mind  to  her  agreeable  body — "you 
would  have  held  your  own  with  the  best  of  them  if  it  had 
been  the  fancy  of  Providence  to  set  you  in  the  aristoc- 
racy— Ugh!" 

With  a  piercing  scream  she  started  out  of  her  com- 
placent reflection. 

A  horrible,  olive-hued,  leering  face  appeared  over  her 
shoulder  in  the  mirror ;  a  blue-clothed  arm  stole  round  her 
waist. 

Pamela  swung  herself  free,  whisked  the  hat  off  her  head, 
ready  to  use  it  as  a  weapon  should  Monsieur  Ildefonse 
pursue  his  advances. 

In  the  dead  pause  the  quick  rustle  of  Madame  Eglan- 
tine's light  summer  flounces  was  heard  on  the  stairs. 

Instantly  the  ex-hairdresser's  countenance  lost  its  satyr 

44 


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smile  and  became  composed  into  its  usual  mask  of  smooth 
propriety. 

"Is  that  you,  mon  Agneau  rose?"  he  cooed. 

"Yes,  yes,  it  is  I,  petit  rat  de  mon  cceur,"  she  replied. 

These  endearments  having  perfunctorily  passed  between 
them,  Madame  halted  on  the  threshold  and  sent  the  glitter 
of  her  swift  glance  from  her  spouse  to  her  apprentice. 

"I  took  the  liberty  of  trying  on  the  hat  what  I've  just 
trimmed,  M'dame,"  said  Pamela  then,  in  her  brazen  way. 

She  wasn't  going  to  put  it  into  Monsieur  Ildefonse's 
power  to  tell  on  her  behind  her  back ;  or,  worse  still,  to  pre- 
tend to  be  shielding  her.  She  knew  his  slimy  ways ! 

"You  do  well  to  call  it  a  liberty,"  said  Madame  Ude- 
fonse,  showing  her  pointed  teeth  as  if  she  wanted  to  bite 
Pamela.  She  was  panting  a  little;  and  there  was  a  sort 
of  whiteness  about  her  nostrils  that  pointed  to  consider- 
able if  repressed  emotion.  "But  let  it  pass.  You  were 
giving  your  opinion,  I  presume,  my  cabbage-stalk?" 

"Meess  very  naturally  wished  me  to  admire  your  ex- 
quisite taste,  ma  tendre  biche,"  he  responded.  "  'No  one,' 
says  she  to  me,  'but  Madame  Eglantine  could  have  made 
this  inimitable,  this  absolutely  original  and  distinguished 
combination;  all  the  while  retaining  the  stamp  of  the 
most  high  tone.' " 

Monsieur  Ildefonse  was  very  glib  of  tongue. 

"A-ah!"  said  Madame,  smiling  horribly.  "You  and 
Meess  flatter  me  in  your  private  conversations." 

"My  charmer,  how  can  I  console  myself  in  your  absence, 

except  by "  He  broke  off,  for  at  that  moment,  with 

sounds  of  pomp,  a  thunder  of  hoofs,  a  crash  and  a  clatter, 
the  street  woke  up  indeed,  as  Miss  Pounce  had  prognosti- 
cated. And  Madame  D'Aimargues  drove  up  in  her  four- 
horsed  coach. 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Madame  Eglantine  cast  off  her  rage,  as  one  may  divest 
oneself  of  a  garment,  to  be  reassumed  at  the  chosen  mo- 
ment; Monsieur  Ildefonse,  with  a  relieved  shrug  of  his 
huge  shoulders,  began  to  retire,  cat-footed,  to  his  den. 

"Remain  as  you  are,  Meess,"  commanded  the  milliner, 
now  entirely  concentrated  on  the  exigencies  of  her  business. 

She  shook  out  her  flounces  and,  summoning  the  bland 
business  smile  to  her  features,  cast  a  swift  glance  at  the 
nearest  mirror  before  taking  two  steps  to  greet  her  valu- 
able patroness. 

It  was  that  glance  at  the  mirror  which  precipitated  the 
catastrophe.  By  some  counter  reflection,  Madame  Eglan- 
tine's jealous  eyes  caught  a  vision  of  Edefonse,  her  hus- 
band, her  cabbage,  the  rat  of  her  heart,  pausing  in  his  turn 
to  cast  a  final  ogle  upon  the  abandoned,  the  sly,  the  se- 
ductive, the  shameless  Meess ! 

Eglantine  beheld  that  ogle.  She  swallowed  her  emotion. 
She  was  above  all  femme  d'affaires.  Everything  must 
give  way  before  the  profit  of  the  moment.  She  could  wait ! 

The  little  Marquise,  blond  and  slim  and  rouged,  ethereal 
yet  vivid,  fluttered  in,  fanning  herself;  tried  on  her  hat, 
chattered,  laughed,  approved,  exclaimed  upon  the  heat; 
and,  still  fanning  herself,  departed,  leaving  on  Pamela's 
mind  the  impression  of  a  glittering  butterfly,  as  lovely,  as 
useless  and  as  impalpable !  You  could  crush  her,  thought 
the  girl,  between  finger  and  thumb. 

Her  serious,  lambent  gaze  had  hardly  followed  the  radi- 
ant apparition  to  the  door,  when  the  explosion  burst  forth. 

It  was  all  the  more  devastating  for  having  been  with- 
held !  Wanton !  Hussy !  Baggage,  designing,  intriguing 
slut!  Meess  de  Malheur!  What  was  Pamela,  after  all, 
but  a  stray  apprentice,  and  an  English  one  at  that,  flung 
upon  her,  Madame  Eglantine's,  benevolence  for  the  sake  of 

46 


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old  friendship!  A  beggar  too,  living  on  her  charity! 
Cette  Lydie,  how  she  had  haggled! — But  if  such  wicked- 
ness had  been  paid  in  all  the  gold  of  England,  Madame 
Eglantine  would  not  have  kept  her,  to  the  destruction  of 
her  domestic  happiness! 

"Meess,  you  pack  this  day!" 

She  added  a  further  flood  of  vituperation,  to  which 
Pamela,  all  her  pretty  carnations  dead  on  her  white  cheeks, 
listened  in  a  fixed  silence. 

When  the  French  woman  had  run  herself  out  of  breath 
on  a  high  scream,  Pamela  answered  her  in  English,  which 
the  whilom  Bath  milliner  spoke  brokenly,  but  understood 
perfectly.  "That'll  do,  M'dame.  I'm  as  pleased  to  get 
out  of  this  place  as  ever  you  can  be  to  see  the  back  of  me. 
As  for  that  fat  husband  of  yours,  I  wouldn't  touch  him 
with  a  pair  of  tongs.  And  as  for  yourself,  I'd  not  remain 
a  moment  longer  than  I  can  help  with  one  as  doesn't 
know  the  meaning  of  truth  and  would  take  an  honest  girl's 
character  away  out  of  pure  spite  and  malice.  And  don't 
you  dare,"  pursued  Pamela,  with  a  swelling  voice,  "say 
anything  against  my  character,  or  as  sure  as  there  is 
justice  in  heaven,  I'll  bring  your  business  about  your 
ears.  I'll  tell  that  old  cat,  my  Aunt  Lydia,  what's  hap- 
pened, that  you  caught  your  horrid  old  Ildefonse  ogling 
me  in  the  glass,  and  that  you  haven't  that  trust  in  him — 
and  sure,  I'm  with  you  there,  for  he  ain't  fit  to  be  trusted 
the  length  of  your  apron  and  so  I  tell  you  fair — you 
haven't  that  trust  in  him  that  you  could  have  another 
moment  of  peace  with  me  under  your  roof.  God  help  you, 
I  don't  blame  you !  Give  me  the  price  of  my  ticket  home 
and  I'll  see  Aunt  don't  get  at  you  over  the  indenture." 

For  all  her  courage,  for  all  the  longing  which  the  thought 

47 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


of  England  brought  her,  the  heart  of  Pamela  Pounce  was 
heavy  as  lead.  She  knew  that  at  the  Kentish  farm  things 
were  going  badly  with  the  yeoman;  she  knew  that  she 
dared  not  add  the  burden  of  her  penniless  self  to  that 
which  rested  on  his  shoulders.  She  knew  that,  odious  as 
it  would  be,  and  abominably  as  her  relative  would  abuse  of 
the  situation,  there  would  be  nothing  for  it,  but  to  throw 
herself  again  on  her  Aunt  Lydia's  family  feeling,  as  soon 
as  the  Dover  coach  landed  her  in  London  town. 

Her  aunt  was  now  with  her  mistress  in  Hertford  Street, 
back  from  the  Wells,  according  to  the  latest  reports ;  that 
was  one  bit  of  luck ;  and  another  was,  that  judging  by  the 
tone  of  the  letter  just  received  by  Madame  Eglantine  with 
an  order  for  hats,  my  Lady  Kilcroney's  maid  was  in  the 
highest  exultation  over  her  mistress's  Royal  promotion! 


CHAPTER  in 

IN  WHICH  MISS  PAMELA  POUNCE,  THE  MILLINER'S  ASSISTANT, 
BECOMES  ARBITER  OP  LIFE  AND  DEATH  IN  HIGH  SO- 
CIETY 

"  TT^RAY,  Mrs.  Tabbishaw,"  wrote  my  Lady  Kilcroney's 
JL  woman  to  the  Mantuamaker  in  Cheapside,  "send 
Pamela  along  with  those  white  feathers  of  her  Ladyship's, 
which  you  has,  this  ever  so  long,  to  be  died  blew,  yours 
obleeged, 

"Lydia  Pounce." 

Now  the  fact  of  Pamela's  being  Lydia's  niece  did  not  en- 
dear her  to  that  maturing  damsel ;  "which,"  she  was  fond 
of  remarking  to  any  beholding  them  together,  "do  seem 
prodigious  absurd,  seeing  as  how  there's  scarce  a  year  or 
two  betwixt  us." 

But  if  Miss  Lydia  was  not  fond  of  displaying  herself  in 
public  with  a  fine,  strapping  young  woman  of  twenty-three 
who  had  an  inconsiderate  way  of  dropping  out  "Aunt"  at 
every  second  word  ("which,  reely,  my  dear,  I  vow  she  does 
a-purpose" — and  perhaps  indeed  she  did),  my  Lady  Kil- 
croney's indispensable  Abigail,  as  she  never  omitted  in- 
forming all  and  sundry,  had  a  remarkable  sense  of  family 
duty.  She  had  placed  the  inconvenient  niece  with  the 
matchless  Eglantine.  With  such  a  start  in  life,  she  con- 
sidered the  girl's  fortune  made.  And  if  Paris  were  to 
become  the  stable  abode  of  so  much  bloom  and  bumptious- 
ness, she,  for  one,  would  continue  to  bear  the  separation 
with  fortitude. 

49 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


When,'  after  three  years'  absence,  however,  Pamela  re- 
appeared on  the  scene,  extraordinarily  Frenchified,  un- 
conscionably beautified,  and  quite  unpardonably  wide- 
awake, having  quarreled  to  the  death  with  Madame 
Eglantine,  and  possessing,  to  boot,  only  the  clothes  on  her 
back  and  the  price  of  her  ticket,  Miss  Lydia  Pounce  was 
very  justly  annoyed.  It  was  quite  impossible  to  send  the 
girl  home,  since  bankruptcy  threatened  the  Kentish  farm. 
Once  again  Lydia's  fine  conception  of  family  obligation 
came  to  the  fore.  There  was  Mrs.  Tabbishaw,  at  whose 
second-rate  establishment  in  Cheapside  the  elder  Miss 
Pounce  had  been  in  the  habit  of  having  such  odd  jobs  done 
for  her  Ladyship  as  the  dyeing  and  recurling  of  feathers, 
the  cleaning  and  mending  of  unimportant  laces,  the  quilt- 
ing of  winter  petticoats!  Mrs.  Tabbishaw  owed  her  a 
good  turn ;  and  if  she  would  now  make  room  for  Pamela, 
give  her  her  board  and  just  enough  wage  for  her  clothes, 
Lydia  would  see  to  it  that  her  mistress  should  go  as  far 
as  to  purchase  an  occasional  hat. 

Pamela  had  no  choice  but  to  fall  in  with  her  aunt's 
arrangements,  for  had  not  Madame  Eglantine  sworn  that 
she  would  give  her  no  character?  (As  if,  indeed,  it  had 
been  her  fault  that  that  odious  Monsieur  Ildefonse  should 
take  to  ogling  her  behind  Madame's  back,  and  her  staring 
into  the  mirror!)  She  knew  very  well,  however,  that  she 
was  sadly  wasted  at  the  poor,  unmodish  place;  and,  in- 
deed, since  Mrs.  Tabbishaw  was  too  stupid  to  realize  the 
treasure  that  had  come  her  way,  the  younger  Miss  Pounce 
was  forthwith  turned  into  a  maid-of-all-work.  Her  long, 
clever  fingers  were  set  to  scrub  and  to  cook,  to  pink  or  to 
quilt,  or  to  whatever  odd  job  pressed  the  most.  She  was 
kept  running  to  and  fro  with  parcels,  and  up  and  down 
stairs  on  messages.  She  was  sent  galloping  to  shops  and 

50 


ARBITER  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

warehouses  to  match  ribbons  and  velvets ;  and  all  the  while 
the  wives  and  daughters  of  the  city  went  on  purchasing 
the  modes  of  the  year  before  last,  as  interpreted  by  vulgar 
minds,  while  spirit,  delicacy,  art,  dash,  millinery  genius  in 
fine,  was  actually  within  their  reach!  Not  that  Pamela 
Pounce  had  any  desire  to  adorn  them.  Her  aspirations 
flew  very  high.  Some  day  she  meant  to  be  as  great  in 
her  line  as  Eglantine  herself ;  to  exercise  her  talents  upon 
heads  as  worth  while  as  my  Lady  Kilcroney's  own. 

"You're  jealous  of  me,  you  cat!"  It  was  thus  she  apos- 
trophized the  worthy  Aunt  Lydia  in  the  solitude  of  her 
attic  chamber.  "You're  jealous  of  me.  You  know  you're 
an  old  maid  and  peevish,  and  I'm  only  twenty-three  and 
better-looking  than  you  ever  were  in  your  life,  with  twice 
your  wits,  though  yours  are  as  sharp  as  your  elbows. 
You  think  I'd  take  the  shine  out  of  you,  you  lemon-faced 
thing !  You  know  I'd  toss  up  a  bit  of  lace  and  feather  for 
your  Ladyship's  boudoir  cap,  and  that  her  Ladyship  would 
nigh  faint  with  the  ecstasy  of  it  when  she  saw  herself  in 
the  glass!  And  a  sweet  pretty  creature  she  is — the  one 
glimpse  I  ever  had  of  her,  and  that  through  the  door,  you 
mean  thing !  Ah,  give  me  a  chance,  and  I  swear  the  sedans 
and  the  carriages  would  be  blocking  the  streets  to  get  at 
me !  But  not  if  you  can  help  it,  old  Miss  Pounce !  You're 
to  be  the  only  important  Miss  Pounce  in  this  world ;  that's 
your  little  game !  But  'tis  not  for  nothing  I've  got  it  all 
in  me!" 

And  hugging  her  knees  as  she  sat  on  her  bed — the  chair 
being  too  rickety  to  bear  her  fine  proportions — Miss 
Pounce  the  younger  would  map  out  her  future  in  glorious 
processions  of  feathers  and  headdresses,  hats  and  bonnets, 
wreaths  and  negligees. 

Through  all  the  hardships,  the  dreary  daily  grind,  the 

51 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


unkindness  and  the  unremitting  exertions,  her  star  shone 
upon  her  with  a  light  that  never  wavered.  The  first  winter 
was  a  trying  one,  and  Pamela  found  London,  after  Paris, 
a  cruel,  ugly  place,  a  cruel  cold  one,  and  a  cruel  hard 
one.  When  the  summer  came,  existence  might  be  easier, 
but  the  hours  were  longer  with  the  daylight;  and  there 
were  nights  when  even  Pamela's  high  heart  gave  way  and 
she  would  drop  on  her  pallet  bed  almost  too  exhausted  to 
sleep.  She  had  grown  thin,  and  there  was  a  certain  fierce- 
ness in  the  fire  of  her  bright  gray  eyes,  as  they  looked  on 
all  humanity  as  an  enemy,  by  that  July  16,  1789,  when 
my  Lady  Kilcroney's  woman  wrote  for  the  "blew  feathers." 

"Oh,  drat!"  said  Mrs.  Tabbishaw. 

She  was  just  sitting  down  to  her  dinner  at  three  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  of  a  torrid  day.  The  reek  of  roast  duck 
and  sage  and  onions  was  succulently  in  the  air,  and  there 
was  a  tankard  of  porter  foaming  and  winking  amber  bub- 
bles beside  her  plate  already. 

"Drat!"  Mrs.  Tabbishaw  took  a  gulp  of  the  porter 
and  waddled  to  the  door  to  scream :  "Those  blue  feathers, 
where  the  deuce  were  they  put?  Pamela!  Pamela!  I 
say,  where  is  that  girl?  My  chest  is  wore  out  screeching 
for  her.  Where's  Pamela,  Miss  Trotter,  dear?" 

"Just  a-setting  down  to  bread-and-cheese  in  the  scul- 
lery," screamed  a  thin  voice  from  the  countinghouse. 

"Setting  down !  It's  like  her  impidence !  Send  for  her 
this  moment,  Miss  Trotter.  Tell  her  she's  got  to  take  my 
Lady  Kilcroney's  blue  feathers  to  Hertford  Street  this 
very  minute.  Tell  her  it's  pressing,  Miss  Trotter.  And 
stay,  look  out  my  lady's  bill,  which  Miss  Pounce  promised 
me  to  have  settled  this  while  back,  and  it  twelve  pound  odd. 
Tell  the  chit  to  ask  her  aunt  for  it.  I'm  none  too  fond  of 
letting  fine  ladies'  bills  run  up,  and  it  all  for  odds  and 

52 


ARBITER  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

ends  that  are  scarce  worth  my  doing.  And,  hark  ye,  tell 
her  she'll  have  to  hurry  back  too,  with  that  pinking  to 
finish  to-night  for  Mrs.  Alderman  Gruntle's  cradle  and 
her  eleventh  due  any  time." 

"For  mercy's  sake,  Aunt  Lydia,"  said  Pamela  Pounce, 
as,  much  to  that  damsel's  surprise  and  annoyance,  she  was 
ushered  in  upon  her  by  Pompey,  the  black  page.  "Give 
me  a  bit  of  bread-and-butter,  and  a  drink  of  Bohea,  for  I 
declare  to  Heaven  I'm  starving.  And  I've  brought  you 
the  feathers.  And  they're  dyed  a  dreadful  blue,  I  think; 
but  once  you  give  anything  over  to  Mrs.  Tabbishaw  you 
get  the  mark  of  her  paw  upon  it,  and  so  I  tell  you." 

"  'Twould  be  well  if  she  put  the  mark  of  her  paw  upon 
you,  miss,  for  your  impidence.  Bread-and-butter,  quotha ! 
And  I'm  sure  'tis  a  good  thing  if  you  are  a  trifle  fined 
down  from  the  gross  size  you  was  when  you  came  back 
from  Paris.  'Dear  me,'  says  my  Lord's  new  man  to  me, 
when  he  caught  sight  of  you,  'that's  a  prize  one!  She'd 
make  ten  of  you,'  he  says;  and  him  so  genteel,  I  blushed 
to  hear  him." 

"Oh,  that  fellow!"  Pounce  the  younger  tossed  her 
head ;  "waylaying  me  on  the  stairs  to  say  I  couldn't  be  a 
Pounce,  being  so — well,  so  vastly  different  from  you,  Aunt 
Lydia.  And  begging  to  see  me  home ;  as  if  I'd  let  him — a 
valet,  indeed!" 

"Upon  my  word !"  Lydia's  faded,  sallow  pretty  coun- 
tenance went  a  trifle  more  sallow,  and  looked  considerably 
less  pretty.  "Who's  to  talk  of  impidence,  I'd  like  to 
know?  And  what  do  you  expect,  miss?" 

"Somebody  considerably  less  like  stripes  and  buttons. 
If  I  don't  get  a  gentleman  one  day,  Aunt " 

"A  gentleman  ?    La,  hear  her !" 

53 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


"I'll  go  single,  like  yourself." 

Pamela's  full,  light  gray  eyes  became  abstracted.  Anon, 
as  she  turned  in  at  the  area  railings,  a  young  gentleman 
had  dashed  by  her  up  the  steps,  and  had  set  the  knocker 
thundering  against  the  panels  of  the  hall  door.  As  she 
had  looked  up,  he  had  looked  down  at  her;  and  then  he 
had  smiled  and  made  a  little  gesture  towards  his  hat, 
which,  if  not  the  courtesy  he  would  have  paid  to  one  of 
his  own  class,  was  nevertheless  a  genial,  pleasant  salute. 
She  thought  she  had  never  seen  so  handsome  a  counte- 
nance; Come  under  the  gaze  of  such  flashing  dark  eyes. 
There  would  be  a  lad  for  one  who  was  lucky  enough  to  be 
able  to  go  in  at  the  front  door ! 

"And,  indeed,  miss " 

Lydia  wheeled  round,  and  perceiving  Pompey  lingering, 
all  one  grin,  tweaked  his  wool. 

"How  dare  you,  you  little  blackamoor !  What  are  you 
doing  here?" 

"He's  waiting  for  orders  to  get  me  a  cup  of  chocolate 
and  a  bit  of  cake,  aren't  you,  Pompey?"  cried  the  quite 
audacious  Pamela.  "I'm  sure  my  Lady'll  never  miss  it. 
And  as  soon  as  I've  got  it  to  give,  I'll  give  you  a  crown- 
piece,  Pompey." 

She  laughed  at  the  little  boy,  and  when  Pamela  Pounce 
laughed  she  was  something  to  look  on ;  for  her  wide,  fresh 
mouth  curled  so  deliciously  and  the  corners  of  it  went  up 
so  gayly,  and  she  had  such  fine,  white,  even  teeth ;  and  as 
the  dimples  came  and  went,  she  gained  such  adorable  little 
lines  of  fun  about  half-shut  eyes  and  the  most  engaging 
little  crinkle  in  her  cocked  nose ! 

"La!"  Mrs.  Tabbishaw's  slavey  cast  herself  into  her 
aunt's  armchair,  untied  the  ribbons  of  her  wide  straw  hat, 
and  flung  it  on  the  table.  She  ran  her  long  fingers,  sur- 

54 


ARBITER  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

prisingly  white,  in  spite  of  their  toil,  through  the  rough- 
ened curls  of  her  chestnut  hair,  stretched  her  long  legs 
luxuriously  and  contemplated  the  dust  on  her  shabby 
shoes.  "Thought  I  should  have  dropped,  I  did,"  she  cried, 
"when  I  come  into  Shepherd's  Market — three  big  feathers 
and  two  little  ones,  Aunt  Lydia !  And,  la !  the  blue !  'Tis 
the  peacockest  vile  color,  I  ever — and,  oh,  here's  my  Lady's 
bill !  And  old  Tabby  must  have  it  paid.  She's  all  swears 
and  spits,  and  fur  flying  about  it,  as  it  is.  'Get  your  aunt 
to  pay,'  she  says,  'for  her  beggarly  odds  and  ends  that 
don't  bring  an  honest  body  a  bit  of  worth  while,'  and  oh," 
she  yawned  outrageously,  "I'm  to  hurry  back  no  less  for 
Mrs.  Alderman  Gruntle's  eleventh  is  waiting  on  my 
pinking." 

"My  Lady's  account!"  Lydia  snatched  the  written 
sheet  from  her  niece's  hand.  "Of  all  the — there,  that's 
what  comes  o'  dealing  with  them  second-class  shops.  Mrs. 
Tabbishaw  thinks  my  Lady  can  be  treated  like  one  of  her 
City  bodies,  I  declare." 

"I'm  not  to  go  back  without  the  money,"  said  Pamela. 

"Dear,  to  be  sure !  And  my  Lady  so  put  about  as  never. 
What  with  her  new  hat  being  such  a  failure,  and  her  out 
of  sorts  too,  over  her  gown  for  the  birthday,  she  about 
to  take  up  her  first  turn  as  Lady-in-Waiting  into  the 
bargain — Court  friends  being  that  spiteful — and  my  Lord 
having  the  ill  luck  at  White's  and  Bellairs'  young  nephew, 
Mr.  Jocelyn,  an  audacious,  gaming,  young  rascal,  if  ever 
I  see  one,  as  set  on  the  dice  as  my  Lord,  and  him  but  a 
beggar,  so  to  speak !  And  my  Lady  paying  his  passage 
back  to  India  twice  over,  to  my  certain  knowledge,  and 
him  losing  it  on  the  green  cloth  within  the  hour!  Well, 
my  Lady's  done  with  him,  that's  one  good  thing.  'Tain't 
the  moment  for  Tabbishaw,  and  so  I  tell  you !" 

55 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


"Why,  la!"  Pamela  had  a  graceful,  lazy  mockery  in 
her  eye  and  voice  which,  however  ill-placed  in  one  of  her 
humble  station,  somehow  became  her.  "My  Lord  must  have 
been,  indeed,  uncommon  out  of  luck  if  my  Lady  Kilcroney, 
her  as  every  one  knows  is  a-rolling  in  old  Bellairs'  money, 
can't  pay  twelve  sovereigns  to  a  poor  shop  in  the  City! 
But  give  me  back  the  bill,  aunt,  and  I'll  tell  Mrs.  Tab- 
bishaw  she's  got  to  wait  till  my  Lord  casts  a  better  tot." 

Lady  Kilcroney's  maid  gazed  at  her  audacious  relative 
as  if  deprived  of  speech.  Nevertheless,  in  all  her  wrath 
there  was  a  certain  grudging  admiration. 

"The  girl's  as  insolent  as  if  she'd  been  born  a  lady !" 

The  thought  flashed  across  her  mind  as  she  whisked 
through  the  door,  brandishing  the  account.  On  the 
threshold  the  power  of  language  returned  to  her. 

"As  if  twelve  sovereigns  wasn't  as  so  many  farthings 
to  one  of  my  Lady's  wealth!" 

Here  she  nearly  cannoned  against  Pompey  with  a  tray, 
and,  bidding  him  wait  to  be  dealt  with  till  his  hands  were 
empty  of  chocolate,  disappeared,  objurgating,  down  the 
passage. 

Pamela  was  halfway  through  her  second  cup  of  choco- 
late, vastly  refreshed  and  comforted  by  it  and  the  agree- 
able little  cakes  which  had  accompanied  it,  when  her  rela- 
tive returned,  with  a  red  spot  on  either  cheek  bone,  her 
nostrils  dilated  over  panting  breaths.  She  had  all  the  air 
of  one  who  emerges  from  a  wrestle.  The  light  of  battle 
was  still  in  her  eye,  but  of  battle  victorious. 

"Here,  miss,"  she  cried,  "thirteen  sovereigns  to  settle 
your  Tabbishaw,  and  milady  says  you  can  keep  the  change. 
Gave  me  all  sorts,  she  did,  being,  as  who  should  know 
better  than  I,  from  early  morning,  my  dear,  in  as  peevish 
a  temper  as  ever  was.  And  what  she  can  be  in  that  line," 


ARBITER  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

said  Lydia,  turning  up  her  eyes,  "you'd  never  believe  if 
you  hadn't  seen,  the  world  being  made  up  of  Diddumses. 
There  wasn't  an  item  along  here  she  didn't  have  her  scratch 
at,  and  in  the  end,  she  says :  'For  Heaven's  sake  stop  talk- 
ing!' (That's  how  poor  servants  is  treated.) 

"  'You'll  have  me  reeling  in  the  head,'  she  says.  'Take 
thirteen  sovereigns  from  my  purse,  and  get  out  of  my 
room  and  don't  let  me  hear  another  word  of  that  there 
maddening  bill!'  And  so  you  can  keep  the  change,  my 
love.  And,  if  you'd  believe  it,  just  out  of  cussedness,  the 
young  gentleman  what's  annoyed  her  so  prodigious  has 
the  boldness  to  come  knocking  at  our  hall  door  and  de- 
manding urgent,  through  Mr.  Blandfoot,  the  butler,  a  few 
moments'  conversation  with  her  Ladyship.  My  Lady  hav- 
ing given  orders  that  he  was  not  to  be  admitted,  the 
scamp  sends  for  the  butler — well,  that's  about  dished  him, 
I  can  tell  you! 

"  'Tell  him,  Blandfoot,'  says  my  Lady,  'that  I  don't 
give  alms  at  the  door.  Tell  him,'  she  says,  'to  go  and 
earn  his  living.  I  don't  hold,'  she  says,  'with  able-bodied 
beggars !' " 

"Oh,"  said  Pamela,  her  thoughts  flying  back  with  com- 
passion to  the  dashing  young  gentleman,  "what  a  cruel, 
wicked  thing  to  say.  'Tis  insulting  misfortune." 

"Insulting  fiddlesticks !  Here,  hasten,  you  baggage,  or 
you'll  lose  your  good  place,  and  I've  had  enough  of  you 
for  one  day,  I  can  tell  you  that." 

"And  what  a  darling,  sweet  auntie  you  are!"  said  the 
second  Miss  Pounce,  as  she  tied  on  her  shepherdess  hat 
with  knowing  little  peeps  at  the  mirror.  "  'Tain't  any 
wonder  I  love  you.  Ta-ta." 

She  dropped  the  sovereigns  into  her  worn  reticule, 

57 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


kissed  her  hand  from  the  door  in  sarcastic  farewell,  and 
departed. 

With  fourteen  shillings  and  twopence  to  the  good  in  her 
pocket,  Pamela  felt  a  singular  sense  of  independence.  In- 
stead of  hurrying  back  into  the  heat,  crowd,  and  toil  of 
Cheapside,  she  turned  her  steps  towards  Hyde  Park,  the 
green  boughs  of  which  seemed  to  beckon  to  her  from  the 
top  of  the  street. 

"I'll  go  and  sit  under  the  trees,"  thought  the  girl.  "An 
idea  for  a  hat  has  come  into  my  mind,  and  I'll  work  it  out 
and  let  Mrs.  Alderman  Gruntle  and  her  cradle  and  the 
pinking  go  to  the  deuce." 

She  found  a  retired  spot  in  the  shade;  and,  the  turf 
being  dry  and  inviting,  stretched  herself  luxuriously  at 
full  length  to  stare  upwards  at  the  odd  little  triangles  and 
stars  of  blue  sky  visible  through  the  interlacing  leaves 
above  her. 

Composing  her  hat  with  the  zest  of  a  poet  his  verses,  she 
lay  at  ease,  in  great  content,  when  she  was  startled  by 
the  sound  of  rapid  footsteps  on  the  sward. 

She  sat  up  and  beheld  a  young  man,  a  very  fine  and 
modish-looking  young  gentleman,  indeed,  who  advanced 
with  great  strides,  brought  himself  to  a  sudden  halt  within 
the  shady  little  dell,  and  casting  swift  looks  from  side  to 
side,  as  if  to  make  sure  he  was  not  observe^  flung  his  hat 
on  the  ground  and  stood  staring. 

Pamela,  shielded  from  observation  by  a  clump  of  bushes, 
watched  with  a  sudden  and  inexplicable  feeling  of  appre- 
hension, which  grew  as  she  caught  sight  of  a  drawn  coun- 
tenance, deathly  pale. 

"For  sure,"  thought  she,  "the  poor  gentleman's  des- 
perate !" 

The  next  instant  she  sprang  to  her  feet  with  a  scream ; 

58 


ARBITER  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

he  had  drawn  a  pistol  from  his  breast  pocket  and,  with  an 
odd  jerk,  almost  as  if  forced  by  some  malevolent  power 
which  he  could  not  withstand,  raised  it  to  his  temple. 

Pamela  was  one  of  those  rare  beings  in  whom  swift  wits 
unite  with  swift  action.  She  hurled  herself  upon  the 
would-be  suicide  and  wrenched  the  weapon  from  his  hand. 
For  a  strange  moment  they  stood  facing  each  other,  eye 
into  eye.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  the  whole  world  held 
nothing  but  those  mad  eyes  of  his,  dilated,  starting, 
haunted;  the  pupils  were  contracting  and  expanding  in 
the  violet  irises  as  with  some  dreadful  pulse  of  his  heart. 
Suddenly  his  whole  being  relaxed ;  he  smiled. 

"Good  heavens !"  she  cried,  "  'tis  the  young  gentleman 
on  the  doorstep  1" 

"And  you,"  said  he,  "are  the  young  lady  in  the  area. 
If  the  next  world's  as  odd  as  this,  'twill  be  a  vastly  comic 
place." 

"Oh!"  cried  Pamela,  who  did  not  at  all  like  this  refer- 
ence to  Eternity. 

Still  less  did  she  like  the  manner  in  which  he  put  out 
his  hand  towards  the  pistol. 

"By  your  leave,  my  dear.     My  property,  I  believe?" 

She  strove  to  avoid  his  grasp;  she  fought  to  keep  the 
weapon  in  her  hand.  "Why,  what  farce  is  this?"  he  ex- 
claimed, laughing.  "What  do  you  imagine,  my  good  girl? 

May  not  an  actor  practice  his  greatest  scene  without ? 

Why,  what  prodigious  nonsense  have  you  got  into  your 
pretty  head?  The  thing's  not  even  loaded!" 

"Ah,  but  what  did  you  say  yourself  just  now?" 

She  was  a  vigorous,  creature,  and  terror  lent  her 
strength.  She  remained  in  possession  of  the  dangerous 
implement. 

"What  did  I  say?  I  merely  tried  the  effect  of  my  most 

59 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


telling  speech  upon  you — with  fine  result.  If  my  public 
are  as  impressionable " 

Once  more  he  stretched  out  his  hand,  but,  leaping  from 
him,  the  girl  raised  the  pistol,  aimed  at  the  nearest  bush, 
pulled  the  trigger,  and  fired. 

As  the  reverberations  died  away  she  turned  a  face, 
drained  of  color  but  triumphant,  upon  him. 

"So  much  for  your  story,  Mr.  Actor!"  cried  she. 

"Why,  you're  too  quick  for  me!"  he  answered,  and, 
with  a  moody  change,  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets 
and  began  to  pace  the  dell  backward  and  forward  before 
her,  kicking  his  hat  each  time  he  passed  it. 

She  thought  that  he  was  no  more  than  a  boy,  for  all  his 
manly  growth,  and  her  heart  went  out  to  him. 

"Here,  give  me  the  pistol,"  he  said.  "Tush,  child,  'tis 
safe  enough  for  the  moment.  We'll  be  having  the  park- 
keeper  upon  us  to  see  who's  been  murdered.  Let  us  look 
innocent." 

"Oh,  oh,"  she  shuddered,  "if  I  had  not  been  here  !" 

"Nay,  my  dear,  I'm  in  no  mood  to  thank  you,  I  protest. 
Yet  'tis  something  to  have  had  a  vision  of  a  pretty  face 
and  a  kind,  womanly  spirit  at  the  last." 

"There  you  go  again,  sir !" 

She  surrendered  the  smoking  pistol,  and,  as  he  slipped 
it  into  his  pocket: 

"Farewell,  my  dear,"  said  he. 

"Ah,  no !"  She  clutched  his  arm  by  both  hands.  "You 
shall  not  go  till  you  have  promised  me — promised  me  on 
your  honor  as  a  gentleman  to  spare  yourself." 

"I  could  do  that,  on  my  honor,"  he  answered  her ;  "but 
I  will  not  quibble  before  such  true  eyes.  Nevertheless, 
it  is  to  spare  myself  that  I.  seek  death.  You  bid 
me,  on  my  honor.  'Tis  because  I  cannot  live  dishonored 

60 


ARBITER  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

that  I  hold  this  pistol  to  my  temples.  'Tis  not  that  I 
don't  love  life  as  well  as  another  man,  or  better.  'Fore 
Heaven,  it  is  because  I  have  loved  life  too  well.  Had  I 
as  much  as  a  guinea  in  my  pocket  I  would  have  defied 
Fate.  When  I  stood  on  those  steps  and  rapped  that 
knocker  a  while  ago,  I  swear  I  had  as  little  thought  of 
blowing  my  brains  out  as  you  had.  When  you  and  I 
smiled  at  each  other  I  thought  this  world  a  very  good 
place,  I  do  assure  you.  That  woman  in  her  fine  house 
yonder,  rolling  in  luxury,  with  her  lap  dog  and  her  choco- 
late and  her  black  page,  her  jewels  and  her  laces,  her 
silks  and  her  satins,  all  in  her  cushions ;  that  woman,  I 
say,  who  finds  the  Bellairs'  money  of  so  vast  a  use  to 
spend,  might  have  given  me  a  ten-pound  note  out  of  her 
store.  When  all's  said  and  done,  I'm  the  only  Bellairs 
left.  And,  if  but  a  nephew-in-law,  nevertheless  the  last 
kin  of  her  old  nabob.  Ten  pounds  I  asked  of  her — that 
contemptible  sum!  And  what  did  I  receive?  The  vilest 
insult,  through  the  most  insulting  medium.  Odds  my  life, 
when  I  think  of  it " 

He  clenched  his  hands. 

Pamela  stood,  reflecting  profoundly,  one  needle-marked 
finger  to  her  lip,  her  white  brow  drawn  together  under 
the  shade  of  her  hat. 

Ten  pounds  to  save  a  man's  honor.  It  seemed  indeed 
a  strangely  small  sum!  As  if  he  read  her  thought,  he 
broke  forth. 

"I  dreamt  last  night,  three  times  over,  that  I  tossed  a 
double  six  at  tric-trac,  and  'tis  the  16th  of  July  and 
I  am  twenty-six!  My  Lord  Sanquhar  promised  to  give 
me  my  revenge  at  the  Six  Bells  at  six  of  the  clock.  'Twas 
such  a  conjunction  of  luck  as  could  not  fail.  I  would 
have  won  back  my  I.O.U.'s.  I  would  have  returned  my 

61 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Lady  Kilcroney  the  passage  money  to  India.  She  wants 
to  ship  me  to  India,  my  dear,  the  inconvenient  poor  rela- 
tion! Ah,  she  need  not  fear!  I  shall  beg  from  her  no 
more.  What  a  farce  it  has  all  been!  'Tis  time  to  put 
an  end  to  it.  Bless  you  for  your  sweet  looks,  my  pretty 
child.  Think  of  me  only  as  one  who,  after  life's  fitful 
fever,  sleeps  well.  Aha!  I  shall  sleep  better  I  daresay, 
than  my  Lady  Kilcroney  when  she  has  read  the  letter  I 
sent  to  her  anon !" 

"One  moment,  Mr.  Bellairs — since  that's  your  name," 
said  Pamela  Pounce,  with  her  wide,  lovely  smile.  She 
dived  into  her  reticule,  and  began  to  gather  the  coins 
together  with  counting  digits.  "If  you'll  condescend  to 
borrow  of  a  person  who  goes  in  by  the  area  gates,  here 
are  thirteen  sovereigns  at  your  service.  I've  just  had  a 
long  bill  paid  me.  And,  oh,"  cried  Pamela,  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly  bursting  into  tears,  "I  wish  they  were  three 
hundred !" 

"Gracious  heavens !"  said  the  young  gentleman. 

"If  you  don't  take  them  I'll  never  know  another  happy 
moment,"  sobbed  Pamela.  "Oh,  how  could  I?  Oh,  sir, 
don't  say  'No,'  because  I  am  just  a  poor  girl." 

"Nay,  then.  I  won't  say  'No.'  Upon  my  soul,  I  don't 
care  if  you  go  in  at  the  coal  hole,  you've  the  finest  spirit 
and  the  prettiest  face,  aye,  and  the  warmest  heart  I've  ever 
met  in  woman." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  she  put  the  money  into  it. 
He  hesitated  then,  and  looked  at  her ;  and  perhaps  because 
of  some  warning  that  flashed  through  her  wet  eyes,  or  per- 
haps because  of  some  innate  spring  of  good  breeding  in 
him,  he  only  kissed  the  hand  that  had  been  strong  to 
save  him. 

"Pray,  what  o'clock  is  it?"  He  struck  his  waistcoat, 

62 


ARBITER  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

where  a  black  ribbon  made  pretense  for  a  missing  watch. 
"My  timepiece  has  gone  the  way  of  most  of  my  pos- 


sessions. 
tt 


'Tis  past  five,"  she  said,  "by  the  shadows." 

The  country  girl  had  not  forgotten  her  lore. 

"Past  five,"  cried  he,  "and  I  due  at  the  Six  Bells !  If 
you  will  move  a  step,  my  dear,  I  will  pick  up  my  hat." 

"Allow  me,  sir,"  said  she.     "Hats  are  my  business." 

She  lifted  the  felt  from  the  grass,  dusted  it  with  her 
arm,  pushed  out  the  dent  where  he  had  kicked  it,  and  gave 
each  corner  a  perfectly  unnecessary  twist. 

"I'm  in  the  millinery,"  said  she,  as  she  handed  it  to  him. 

"I  thought  there  was  something  remarkably  elegant 
about  your  headgear,"  he  observed.  "And  pray  oblige  me 
with  your  address,  that  I  may  know  where  to  return  my 
loan,  for  the  conviction  grows  in  me  that  I  am  destined  to 
win  and  to  live." 

She  knew  that  sense  of  victory ;  it  was  akin  to  the  con- 
victions of  her  own  confident  soul;  but  while  she  smiled 
she  pondered.  Then  she  said  demurely: 

"My  name  is  Pamela  Pounce,  sir.  If  you  will  inquire 
for  me  care  of  my  aunt,  Miss  Lydia  Pounce,  own  woman 
to  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  'twill  be  the  safest  address." 

He  gave  her  a  quaint  look,  bowed  profoundly,  and  hur- 
ried away. 

"The  safest  address,"  he  murmured,  as  he  went.  "Ah 
Pamela,  you're  one  of  the  wise  virgins !" 

Then  he  laughed. 

"Farce  did  I  call  it!  And!  I  set  for  the  blackest 
tragedy!  Nay,  'tis  a  mighty  delicate  comedy,  and  we're 
but  at  the  first  act  of  it." 

Pamela  stood  gazing  after  the  retreating  figure. 

"Now,"  said  she  to  herself,  "I  have  the  choice  of  three 

63 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


roads.     I  must  go — to  Bridewell,  to  the  river,  or  to  Aunt 
Lydia.    It  had  better  be  to  Aunt  Lydia." 

"Stripes  and  buttons,"  who  had  not  forgotten  how  the 
younger  Miss  Pounce  had  snubbed  him  on  their  first  meet- 
ing, informed  her  that  she  might  "hunt  up  the  old  girl  for 
herself";  her  Ladyship  having  gone  out,  her  Ladyship's 
woman,  if  not  in  her  own  apartment,  might  be  found  in 
her  Ladyship's  chamber. 

And  here  indeed,  with  a  not  altogether  comfortably 
beating  heart,  Pamela  confronted  her  aunt. 

Lydia  stared,  as  if  beholding  a  ghost. 

"La,  whatever's  to  do?" 

"The  money's  gone,"  said  Pamela  with  great  firmness. 

She  had  made  up  her  mind  from  the  first  that  nothing 
should  induce  her  to  betray  either  the  unfortunate  young 
gentleman  or  her  own  rash  interference  with  his  concern. 

"Gone?     Gone,  miss?" 

Pamela  opened  her  reticule,  mutely  took  out  from  it  a 
vinaigrette,  three  pennies,  a  sixpence,  and  a  pocket  hand- 
kerchief, and  showed  the  remaining  vacuum  to  Lydia's 
horrified  eyes. 

"But  how  in  the  name  of  goodness  could  such  a  thing 
happen  ?" 

"You  lend  me  the  money,  aunt,  and  I'll  pay  you  back 
faithful,  and  I'll  trim  you  all  your  hats  for  three  years 
for  nothing  into  the  bargain." 

But  with  an  action  of  little  bony  hands  which  typified 
her  patronymic,  Miss  Pounce  seized  the  reticule  from  her 
niece.  She  shook  it,  and  tested  it ;  she  held  it  up  to  the 
light,  she  pulled  its  lining  out.  Then  she  tried  the  clasp, 
which  fastened  with  a  snap  as  uncompromising  as  that 
which  now  closed  her  own  tight  jaws. 

64 


ARBITER  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

Still,  without  speaking,  she  looked  volumes  at  the  milli- 
ner's assistant. 

"I  declare  as  I'm  a  living  woman,  aunt,"  asseverated  the 
sinner,  "that  I  have  no  more  notion  what's  become  of  the 
gold  than  you  have  yourself.  And  all  I  can  tell  you 
is" — hen  courage  rose  with  the  sense  of  this  perfect 
adherence  to  the  truth — "that  as  I  left  this  house  it  was 
jingling  in  that  bag,  and  when  last  I  looked  there  wasn't 
one  left.  And  if  you  don't  come  to  my  aid — why,  you  know 
what  Madam  Tabbishaw  is?  She'll  always  say  I  stole 
them.  Come,  you'll  lend  me  the  money,  I  know  you  will, 
for  father's  sake,  and  the  name's  sake.  We  Pounces  ain't 
never  been  called  thieves,  aunt." 

Her  voice  shook,  for  suddenly  the  word  stung  her,  un- 
repentant though  she  remained. 

"Lend  you !"  Miss  Lydia  let  herself  fall  into  my  Lady's 
own  rosy-cushioned  chair  and  broke  into  piercing  remon- 
strance. 

How  in  the  name  of  goodness  was  she  to  find  such  a 
sum?  Did  Pamela  think  she  was  made  of  gold?  Here 
was  a  return  for  all  her  kindness !  A  girl  who  was  so 
wickedly  careless — likely  to  keep  her  promises,  indeed ! 
She  that  ought  to  be  racking  her  brains  to  pay  back  her 
dear  auntie  for  all  her  sacrifices. 

"Thirty  pounds,  miss,  it  cost  me  to  send  you  to  Paris, 
and  you  to  be  so  unprincipled  as  to  let  Madame  Eglan- 
tine's husband  take  to  ogling  you!  And  it's  paying  me 
back  you  ought  to  be,  instead  of  having  the  brazenness  to 
ask  me  for  thirteen  pounds.  And  indeed,  miss,  it's  not 
thirteen  pounds  I'll  give  you ;  no,  not  a  farthing  more  than 
the  sum  of  the  bill.  You  that  might  have  had  fourteen 
and  tuppence  all  for  yourself!" 

65 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


She  suddenly  broke  off,  sat  up  straight,  and  pointed  a 
finger  at  her  niece  with  a  sharp  throw. 

"Where  did  you  go  to,  miss,  when  you  left  this  house? 
Straight,  now !  What?  You  went  and  sat  under  the  trees 
in  the  Park?  Upon  my  word,  I  never!  And  how  long 
might  you  have  been  a-sitting  there?  You  don't  know. 
Better  and  better.  You  went  to  sleep,  miss,  with  that 
there  bag  full  of  gold.  Oh,  you " 

Pamela  drooped  her  head,  receiving  the  indictment  as 
with  the  humility  of  a  guilty  conscience,  though  she  was 
considerably  relieved  by  the  solution  which  the  older  Miss 
Pounce  had  found  for  herself. 

Suddenly  Lydia  bounced  out  of  her  seat. 

"Mercy  on  us,  here's  my  Lady !"  cried  she.  And  then, 
with  a  scream :  "Mercy  on  us !"  she  cried  again.  "What 
in  the  world  has  happened?" 

Pamela  stared.  My  Lady  Kilcroney  it  was  certainly, 
to  judge  by  a  fine  feathered  hat  and  a  delicate  flutter  of 
muslins,  but  a  vastly  different  Lady  Kilcroney  from  the 
charming,  happy  little  lady  of  Pamela's  remembrance.  A 
small  figure  with  a  stricken  face  crawled  into  the  room, 
and,  as  Lydia  rushed  forward,  nearly  swooned  against  her. 

"My  Lady,  my  Lady,  what  is  it?"  cried  the  maid  in 
genuine  concern,  guiding  her  mistress's  form  to  the  chair 
she  had  herself  but  just  vacated. 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!"  moaned  my  Lady.  "Oh,  in  the  name  of 
Heaven,  send  for  my  Lord!  Oh,  Lydia,  the  letter,  the 
letter !" 

Both  women  then  saw  that  in  a  little  gloved  hand  my 
Lady  Kilcroney  was  clutching  an  open  sheet.  Lydia 
took  it  into  her  own  grasp  and  glanced  at  it. 

"Mercy  on  us !"  then  cried  she  for  the  third  time. 
"That  dratted  young  man  you've  been  so  good  to !  Well, 

66 


ARBITER  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

if  ever  was  anything  so  ungrateful!  To  go  and  put  an 
end  to  himself,  just  to  spite  you !  Never  you  take  on,  my 
Lady,  he's  no  great  loss,  I  protest.  A  good  riddance, 
say  I." 

"Oh,  oh,  oh!"  Kitty  Kilcroney  sat  up  and  wrung  her 
hands.  "Was  ever  any  woman  so  punished  for  a  fit  of 
temper?  Oh,  Lydia!  Oh!  I  shall  never  smile  again! 
'Twas  my  Lord  being  so  late  in  yester-even  from 
White's,  mad-stupid  with  his  losses.  And,  oh,  the  night  I 
had  trying  to  show  him  the  error  of  his  ways  and  the  vast 
folly  of  not  letting  bad  be,  when  the  luck's  against  him! 
And  him  going  off  in  a  huff,  God  knows  where,  before  I'd 
as  much  as  swallowed  my  chocolate !  And  Madame  Mira- 
bel's hat  coming  on  the  top  of  it,  and  it  is  a  sight  to 
frighten  the  crows  after  all  my  trouble!  And  my  gown 
for  Her  Majesty's  birthday,  the  wrong  yellow  and  no  time 
to  get  another !  And  for  the  wretched  boy  to  come  to  me 
then,  with  his  horrid  tale  of  the  dice  and  the  cards,  as  bad 
as  my  Lord's  own,  him,  without  a  farthing  but  my  bounty ! 
Oh,  oh,  'twas  true  I  insulted  him!  What's  that  you  say? 
Who  are  you,  pray?" 

She  had  dropped  her  cries  of  anguish  to  speak  with  the 
irritability  of  the  afflicted. 

"I  am  your  woman  Lydia's  niece." 

Pamela  went  down  on  her  knees  before  the  distracted 
lady,  and  spoke  very  gently  and  deliberately  as  to  a  child ; 
the  while  she  spoke  Kitty's  eyes  widened  on  her  smiling 
countenance  as  if  they  beheld  an  angel's. 

"Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs  has  not  committed  suicide,  my 
Lady  Kilcroney,  nor  will  he  do  so  because  I  took  the  pistol 
out  of  his  grasp.  Yes,  my  Lady,  I,  with  these  hands.  And 
I  gave  him  the  thirteen  pounds  you  sent  me  to  pay  Mrs. 
Tabbishaw's  bill.  Thirteen  pounds !  And  he  went  away 

67 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


to  gamble  with  them  at  the  Six  Bells,  and  he  was  quite 
sure  that  he  was  going  to  win  all  his  money  back  from 
Lord  Sanquhar  with  the  help  of  them,  and  I  am  quite  sure, 
too,  for  him.  Says  he,  'My  luck  is  turned.'  And " 

She  was  interrupted. 

"And  that's  what  happened  to  my  Lady's  money.  Oh, 
you  deceitful  wretch !  Oh,  you  vile  young  thief !" 

Lydia  forgot  everything  but  her  indignation.  Her  gim- 
let tones  might  have  pierced  the  slumbers  of  the  dead,  but 
neither  my  Lady  nor  Pamela  paid  the  smallest  heed  to  her, 
for  Kitty  Kilcroney  had  flung  herself  upon  the  young 
milliner's  neck,  and,  shedding  tears  of  joy,  called  her  the 
most  incomparable  girl,  the  noblest  creature,  the  nearest 
thing  to  a  seraph  that  had  ever  walked  in  a  world  of  woe. 

They  were  both  as  keen  of  wit  one  as  the  other ;  and  it 
was  wonderful  how,  with  scarce  half  a  dozen  questions  and 
answers,  the  whole  story  came  out. 

"You  turned  into  the  Park,  you  did  not  know  why  ?  Ah, 
but  I  know  why !  'Twas  Providence,  child.  A  most  merci- 
ful act  of  Providence!  And  you  saw  his  desperate  face? 
Oh,  I  can  scarce  bear  it!  You  wrenched  the  pistol  from 
his  very  hand?  Oh,  if  I  live  to  be  a  hundred,  how  can  I  be 
grateful  enough  to  Heaven  and  to  you?  Rash  and  unfor- 
tunate young  man!  You  gave  him  thirteen  pounds?  He 
only  asked  me  for  ten.  Oh,  where  did  you  say  he  had  gone 
to?  I  must  send  after  him.  Lydia,  bid  the  carriage  round 
again.  I  must  go  myself.  And  you  shall  go  with  me, 
child.  Oh,  you  shall  indeed !" 

"Since  her  Ladyship's  in  such  a  fine  mood  of  generos- 
ity," cried  Lydia,  who  occasionally  presumed  on  ten  years' 
service,  "perhaps  she'll  pay  Mrs.  Tabbishaw's  bill  over 
again?  Or  else  my  niece  will  be  getting  into  trouble,  and 

68 


ARBITER  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

she  needn't  look  to  me  to  get  her  out  of  it,  lying  to  mj 
very  face!" 

Kitty  was  standing  before  her  mirror,  happily  setting 
her  flounces  into  trim,  as  a  ruffled  bird  its  feathers. 

"And  why  did  you  never  tell  me  you  had  such  a  niece, 
Lydia,  I  should  like  to  know?  And  what  do  you  mean  by 
burying  a  fine  young  woman  like  that  with  a  creature  like 
Tabbishaw?— Oh!  Oh!  Oh!" 

My  Lady's  nerves  were  pardonably  on  edge.  The  shrieks 
that  again  escaped  her  as  my  Lord  Kilcroney  marched 
into  the  room  were  as  piercing  as  Lydia's  own. 

"Good  heavens,  my  Lord,  you'll  be  the  death  of  me! 
You  should  have  married  Susan  Verney,  you  should 
indeed,  or  some  one  with  a  cast-iron  constitution. 
Stay " 

Kitty's  frowns  were  never  of  long  duration,  and  she  was 
in  no  mood  for  frowning !  "You've  come  in  the  very  nick 
of  time,  my  dearest  love.  Do  I  not  hear  your  coach  with- 
out? Hasten,  hasten  to  the  tavern  of  the  Six  Bells.  Pray, 
where  is  it,  my  dear?  Oh,  doubtless  you  know,  dearest 
Denis !  And  you  will  ask  for  Jocelyn  Bellairs.  You  know, 
Denis,  poor  young  Bellairs?" 

"Faith,  then,  I've  been  beforehand  with  you,  me  dar- 
ling!" said  my  Lord. 

He  was  running  Pamela's  straight  young  figure  up  and 
down  with  the  eye  of  the  connoisseur  as  he  stood  a  hand- 
some devil-may-care  gentleman;  one  who  patronized  so 
superlative  a  tailor,  wore  such  fine  lawns  and  laces,  and 
had  withal  so  monstrous  elegant  a  frame  whereon  to  hang 
them  that  a  trifle  of  a  loop  hanging  here  or  a  button  loose 
there  merely  pointed  to  a  genteel  carelessness. 

"Faith,  I've  been  beforehand  with  you !  Meeting  my 
Lord  Sanquhar  anon,  he  took  me  to  the  Six  Bells,  where  he 

69 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


had  a  rendezvous  with  your  poor  young  relative,  Mr.  Joce- 
lyn  Bellairs.  And  be  jabers,"  cried  my  Lord,  with  his 
favorite  Irish  oath,  "if  that  young  rascal  hasn't  cleaned 
both  me  and  my  Lord  Sanquhar  as  bare  as  Mother  Hub- 
bard's  cupboard !" 

He  paused;  the  investigating  eye  fixed  itself  with  a 
guilty  twinkle  upon  his  Kitty's  countenance,  where  a  mix- 
ture of  strange  emotions  were  struggling  for  expression. 
And  suddenly  Lydia  clapped  her  hands  and  broke  into 
eldritch  laughter.  Whereat  my  Lady  also  made  her  choice 
of  emotions,  and  laughed  too. 

"And  troth,  mavourneen,"  said  my  Lord,  delighted  to 
find  the  situation  so  unexpectedly  agreeable,  "I'm  here  to 
say  'twas  you  were  in  the  right  of  it  the  livelong  night. 
There's  not  a  ha'porth  of  good  in  trying  to  force  fortune 
when  the  jade  has  made  up  her  mind  to  flout  ye.  And  I'll 
take  your  advice,  me  darling,  and  go  with  you  into  the 
country  the  moment  we  get  those  devils  of  I.O.U.'s  settled, 
till  it's  time  for  you  to  abandon  me  for  that  dashed  damna- 
tion Court  of  yours !" 

"Oh,  I  can't  scold  you !"  cried  his  wife.  "But,  oh,  why 
did  you  abandon  me  all  day?  'Twas  cruel  unkind  of  you, 
and  I  dare  swear  if  you'd  been  here  'twould  never  have 
happened ;  for  you'd  not  see  a  fellow  dicer  go  wanting  for 
a  ten-pound  note,  my  Lord,  if  I  know  you !  Oh,  read  that 
letter,  Denis,  and  you'll  understand!  And  if  it  had  not 
been  for  Lydia's  niece  here,  admirable  girl!  who  took  the 
pistol  out  of  his  very  hand  in  the  Park,  and  gave  him  her 
employer's  money — oh !  if  it  were  not  for  this  noble,  clever 
young  woman,  where  should  I  be  now?" 

"You  needn't  worry  about  the  bill,  aunt,"  said  Pamela, 
with  the  perfect  composure  that  compelled  that  person's 
disapproving  admiration.  "I  gave  your  address  to  Mr. 

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ARBITER  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

Bellairs,  and,  as  he  will  certainly  be  punctual  with  repay- 
ment, her  Ladyship  will  perhaps  kindly  allow  me  to  remain 
until  he  calls  anon,  with  the  money?" 

There  was  nothing  my  Lady  Kilcroney  would  have  re- 
fused Miss  Pounce  the  younger  at  that  moment;  and  the 
milliner's  assistant  proceeded  to  add  to  her  obligations. 

"If  your  Ladyship  would  trust  me  with  the  retrimming 
of  Madame  Mirabel's  hat  meanwhile,  I  make  bold  to  say  I 
could  alter  it  to  your  satisfaction " 


CHAPTER  IV 

SHOWING   STORM   WITHIN   AND   WITHOUT 


are  some  who  seem  to  be  destined  always  to 
JL  keep  on  top  as  the  wheel  of  life  revolves,  no  matter 
how  others  may  suffer  from  the  law  of  its  relentless 
motion. 

My  Lady  Kilcroney  (  still  in  the  minds  of  those  who  had 
first  known  her  in  her  brilliant  widowhood  "Incomparable 
Bellairs  !")  might  be  counted  among  the  rare  ones  who  are 
thus  miraculously  favored. 

Beauty,  wit,  charm,  wealth,  rank  and  the  irresistible 
dash  of  the  born  leader  she  had  already  possessed;  now 
she  had  attained  to  Court  favor.  She  was  Lady-in-wait- 
ing to  Queen  Charlotte!  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  add 
that  she  had  become  a  power  in  the  world;  should  she 
choose  to  exercise  her  influence  on  behalf  of  any  one  clever 
and  virtuous  enough  to  profit  by  it,  that  person's  fortune 
might  be  regarded  as  made. 

So  do  great  planets,  following  their  allotted  orbits,  carry 
in  their  wake  lesser  stars  that  bask  and  shine  in  a  re- 
flected light  ! 

In  the  instance  of  Miss  Pamela  Pounce  the  luminary 
thus  lifted  into  prominence,  possessed  a  very  considerable 
power  of  shining  on  her  own  account;  and,  her  position 
in  the  hemisphere  once  assured,  she  required  no  borrowed 
brilliancy. 

In  other  words,  my  Lady  Kilcroney's  recommendation 
obtained  for  Pamela  Pounce  a  new  start  in  life.  Madame 
Mirabel,  exceedingly  dissatisfied  with  her  head  milliner; 

72 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

aware  that  Madame  Eglantine  of  Paris  was  growing  sleek 
on  the  very  cream  of  her  rightful  British  custom,  and 
being  moreover  much  struck  with  Pamela's  genteel  appear- 
ance, her  manner  and  her  aptitude,  was  all  readiness  to 
oblige  so  distinguished  a  client  as  my  Lady  Kilcroney  and 
give  the  young  woman  a  trial. 

Before  the  autumn  of  her  disastrous  summer  had  waned, 
the  younger  Miss  Pounce  found  herself  firmly  established 
in  the  very  position  which  had  been  the  object  of  her 
wildest  dream.  She  was  head  of  the  millinery  department 
of  the  great  Bond  Street  mantuamaker. 

Like  her  unexpected  patroness,  it  might  seem  that  her 
cup  of  happiness  was  full.  But — there  is  no  factor  in  the 
calculations  of  existence  so  easily  forgotten  as  that  most 
important  item  of  all,  the  human  heart ! 

Pamela,  in  making  her  courageous  plan  of  life,  had  for- 
gotten to  reckon  with  her  heart ! 

And  this  tiresome,  irresponsible,  uncontrollable  organ 
began  to  trouble  her  exceedingly.  In  those  hours  of  leisure 
when  she  was  not  concocting  delightful  schemes  for  the 
breaking  of  other  people's  hearts — for  every  one  knows 
what  a  killing  hat  will  do — she  found  herself  considerably 
inconvenienced  by  the  peculiar  conduct  of  her  own. 

Said  Miss  Polly  Popple  of  the  millinery  department  to 
Miss  Clara  Smithson,  the  bookkeeper: 

"You  mark  my  words,  my  dear,  there's  something  up 
with  that  young  woman,  Pounce !  She'll  be  getting  herself 
into  a  regular  scandal,  with  that  dashing  young  spark  of 
hers!  And  if  she  ain't  got  something  on  her  conscience 
already — I  don't  know  the  signs !" 

Miss  Smithson  leaned  forward,  wheezing  heavily. 

"Providence  ain't  always  unjust,  Polly,"  she  said,  "and 

73 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


people  do  come  by  their  rights,  no  matter  how  many  Vis- 
countesses is  against  them  1" 

"Ah,"  said  Polly,  swelling  her  fine  bust,  and  looking  at 
herself  in  the  fly-blown  glass  which  hung  over  the  chimney 
in  the  little  room  at  the  back  of  the  Bond  Street  shop 
where  she  was  sitting,  after  hours,  with  her  friend.  "That 
was  a  bit  of  jobbery,  that  was!  There  isn't  one  in  the 
establishment,  I  do  believe,  that  wasn't  struck  all  of  a  heap 
when  they  heard  that  a  strange  young  female  was  put 
into  old  Mrs.  Dodder's  place  instead  of  me,  which  the  next 
in  rank  is  always,  by  law,  you  might  say,  entitled  to. 
Lady  Kilcroney  being  that  prodigious  in  the  fashion — not 
that  I  was  ever  one  to  admire  her ;  give  me  breeding ! — and 
Madame  Mirabel  being  so  set  on  cutting  out  Madame 
Eglantine — not  that  she  ever  will,  and  you  mark  my  words, 
for  London  ain't  Paris,  I  say,  and  that  I'll  maintain  and 
you  may  talk  yourself  blue  in  the  face,  Clara,  and  you 
won't  alter  that!  If  it  hadn't  been  for  that  put-up  job, 
'tis  I'd  have  been  head  of  the  millinery  here  this  moment." 

Miss  Polly  Popple's  case  was  clear ;  but  Miss  Smithson's 
reasons  for  disliking  Pamela  were  perhaps  more  abstruse. 
She  talked  big  of  the  claims  of  friendship,  of  her  sympathy 
for  Miss  Popple,  and  also  of  a  "rising  within  her"  which 
was  an  infallible  sign  of  "something  fishy"  in  somebody 
else.  But  the  truth  was  that  the  newcomer's  radiant 
youth,  her  success,  her  spirit  of  enterprise,  had  started 
the  base  passion  of  envy  in  Miss  Smithson's  withered 
breast;  a  passion  the  more  prejudicial  that  it  flourishes 
entirely  outside  the  pale  of  reason!  She  listened  very 
greedily,  therefore,  to  Miss  Popple's  rapid  exposition  of 
her  suspicions.  Between  gossip,  malice,  and  inventiveness 
the  new  head  milliner's  character  seemed  indeed  in  a  par- 
lous condition  when  Miss  Popple  concluded. 

74 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

That  wheezing  breath  of  Miss  Smithson's  was  drawn 
with  ever  increased  intensity. 

"Walking  with  the  young  gentleman  late  of  an  evening 
in  the  Green  Park !  Upon  my  word !  If  it  had  been  you 
that  had  seen  her  last  night,  now,  Miss  Popple,  dear,  in- 
stead of  that  poor  foundling  of  a  Mary-Jane,  which 
Madame  Mirabel  was  saying  only  yesterday  could  scarce 
be  trusted  to  match  a  skein  of  blue  silk,  I'd  go  to  Madame 
Mirabel  this  minute  with  it.  I  would,  being  so  to  speak, 
a  cousin " 

"Beware  what  you  does,  Miss  Smithson,  you'll  ruin  all. 
Give  her  rope." 

"Rope,  Miss  Popple?" 

"Rope  to  hang  herself  with,"  said  Miss  Popple  vin- 
dictively. "That's  in  a  manner  of  speaking.  Plain ! 
She'll  give  herself  away  or  he'll  give  her  away,"  she  had 
an  ill-natured  giggle,  "so  as  we  give  them  time.  It's  his 
game  to  give  her  away,  a  devil-may-care  hand,  some  young 
buck  who  only  wants  to  have  her  at  his  mercy,  just  for 
his  fun.  Wasn't  he  after  her  here — open — three  after- 
noons out  of  last  week?" 

"After  her  here?"  Miss  Smithson  again  repeated  her 
friend's  last  words.  She  was  exceedingly  shocked. 

"Why,  mercy  to  goodness !"  she  went  on  in  horrified 
tones.  "And  it  the  rule  of  the  House  as  no  male  belong- 
ings is  allowed  after  the  young  ladies  here,  not  if  they  were 
grandfathers  itself.  And  they  churchwardens !" 

"Oh,  tush,  Smithson,"  interrupted  Polly  contemptu- 
ously. "Of  course  my  sly  young  Beau  comes  dangling  in 
with  some  lady  friend,  to  help  her  to  choose  a  hat — by 
way  of — Polly  winked.  "Toosday,  it  was  Mrs.  Lafone  as 
brought  him,  or  to  be  correct,  he  brought  her,  which  know- 
ing the  minx  as  I  do — I  refers  her  to  Mrs.  Lafone — 'tis 

75 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


my  intimate  conviction  'tis  he  will  pay  for  that  there  hat ! 
But,  as  you  knows,  Miss  Smithson,  and  none  better,  ladies' 
morals  ain't  our  concern,  thanks  be,  so  long  as  we  keeps 
our  own  respectable." 

Miss  Smithson  admitted  this  regrettable  truth,  with  a 
doleful  sigh.  Polly  took  another  pull  at  the  brew  of  hot 
spiced  beer  which  they  had  concocted  for  their  comfort 
this  cold  December  night,  and  proceeded: 

"Thursday,  if  Mr.  Stafford  doesn't  bring  him  along,  all 
innocent !  He  with  his  handsome  lady  on  his  arm,  up  from 
Windsor  for  the  day,  to  buy  her  a  stylish  head  for  a 
Christmas  present.  And,  'What  are  you  doing,  looking  in 
at  a  hat-shop  window,  Bellairs?'  says  he,  laughing  and 
joking  ('tis  his  way,  my  dear,  a  very  agreeable  gentle- 
man!). 'Gad,'  says  he,  'you've  not  got  a  wife  to  run  you 
up  bills !  Your  chinkers  goes  hopping  out  on  bosses  and 
dice  and  cards  and  what  not !  Selfish  fellows  you  bachelors 
are !'  And  Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs,  bowing  to  Mr.  Stafford 
and  declaring  he  only  wished  he  had  other  people's  luck — 
and  indeed,  Miss  Smithson,  Mrs.  Stafford  is  a  real 
beauty ! — But  all  the  while,  my  dear,  who  is  he  looking  at 
and  ogling  and  taking  occasion  to  whisper  to — but  Miss 
Pounce,  if  you  please! — And  if  I  didn't  see  the  way  her 
kerchief  lace  was  quivering  with  the  palpitation  of  her 
heart,  and  her  hands  shaking  as  she  took  down  heads  for 
Mrs.  Stafford  and  held  them  up  for  her — well  my  name's 
not  Popple." 

Miss  Smithson  leaned  over  the  sulky  coal  fire  and  lifted 
the  saucepan  from  the  hob  to  refill  her  glass.  Her  own 
hands  shook.  That  Pamela  was  a  disgrace  and  would 
bring  discredit  in  the  whole  House  of  Mirabel!  she  felt 
it  in  her  bones. 

"You  may  say  so,  dear."  As  her  friend  drank,  Polly 

76 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

Popple  tendered  her  own  tumbler  for  replenishment,  mur- 
muring parenthetically,  however,  "Not  a  drop  more,  love. 
I  never  did  hold  with  stimulants,  only  you  were  so  pressing 
and  it  is  a  foggy  night,  I  won't  deny,  and  a  drop  of  cordial, 
a  mere  medical  precaution,  so  to  speak. — You  may  say 
so,"  the  slighted  young  lady  of  the  bonnet  department 
took  up  her  theme  with  fresh  gusto.  "And  you'd  say 
so  a  million  times  more  if  you  had  seen  them  to-day. 
For  Mr.  Jocelyn  comes  in  with  my  Lady  Kilcroney — and 
oh,  the  bold  brazenness  of  it ! — then  he  stands  behind  my 
Lady's  chair  and  Pounce — La!  I  declare  I'd  have  been 
sorry  for  her  if  she  wasn't  what  she  is,  the  baggage — red 
and  white  and  not  knowing  where  to  put  her  eyes  with  him 
signaling  to  her.  Yes,  and  if  he  did  not  thrust  a  letter 
into  her  hand  as  I  went  out,  you  may  set  me  down  a  liar. 
And  her  stuffing  it  into  her  kerchief  under  my  very  nose !" 

"Don't,  dear,  don't,"  moaned  Miss  Smithson,  beating 
the  air  with  her  bony  hand.  Then,  after  a  long  pause  dur- 
ing which  she  seemed  to  be  painfully  bringing  her  virginal 
mind  to  confront  the  awful  pictures  just  presented  to  it, 
she  went  on  acridly:  "There'll  be  a  bust  up!  When  a 
girl  comes  to  that  pint  of  disreputableness,  things  is  bound 
to  happen.  It  can't  go  on  like  this — you  mark  my  words." 

Now,  strangely  enough,  barring  the  inexactitude  of  the 
premise,  such  a  conclusion  had  just  formed  itself  in 
Pamela's  own  mind. 

It  could  not  go  on.  Something  was  bound  to  happen. 
She  had  saved  the  life  of  Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs;  and  he 
had  demonstrated  his  gratitude  by  promptly  falling  head 
over  heels  in  love  with  her.  So  far,  so  good ;  or  rather,  so 
far,  so  bad,  where  a  dashing  young  gentleman  of  expensive 
habits,  small  principle  and  remarkable  fascination  and  a 
young  person  of  the  working  class  are  concerned !  For 

77 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


the  mischief  of  it  was  she  had  fallen  in  love  with  him. 
Poor  Pamela,  with  her  high  spirit,  her  clear  brain  and  her 
strong  courage,  to  be  betrayed  by  a  heart  as  vulnerable 
as  any  silly  girl's  of  the  lot!  She  was  clear-sighted 
enough  to  know  that  stripped  of  the  golden  glamour,  the 
path  of  her  romance  led  to  a  very  ugly  gulf.  She  despised 
herself  for  her  weakness.  She  had  no  illusions  on  the 
quality  of  the  attachment  offered  to  her  by  Mr.  Jocelyn 
Bellairs,  but,  as  the  short  December  days  dropped  away 
to  Christmas,  she  found,  growing  within  her,  a  dangerous 
new  self,  a  reckless  creature  who  cried:  "The  Devil  might 
take  the  consequences,  a  girl  was  young  but  once:  you 
•found  your  fate,  and  had  to  clasp  him  or  lose  him,  the  one 
man  you  could  love  and  him  only,  or  go  wanting  to  your 
grave!" 

"I  know  it's  death  and  destruction  sometime,"  said 
Pamela  to  herself,  sitting  hugging  her  knees  in  the  neat 
little  chamber  in  Shepherd  Street,  where  she  lodged  with 
a  most  respectable  widow  woman  who  had  once  seen  better 
times,  "but  isn't  it  death  and  destruction  anyhow  at  once 
if  I  have  to  give  him  up?" 

She  reread  the  letter  he  had  slipped  into  her  hand — the 
audacious  fellow — a  few  hours  ago  at  Madame  Mirabel's. 

"It  must  be  yes  or  no,  my  darling  lovely  girl."  My 
darling  lovely  girl.  That  was  what  his  eyes  were  always 
saying,  and,  oh,  it  was  sweet ! 

It  must  be  yes  or  no!  She  told  herself  that  if  she 
couldn't  say  "yes,"  it  was  still  more  impossible  to  say 
"no."  Backwards  and  forwards  she  struggled  with  the 
insolvable  problem,  till  her  tallow  candle  expired  with  a 
great  stench,  and  she  was  left  in  darkness  and  misery. 
Worn  out  with  her  long  day,  she  fell  at  last  asleep,  to  be 
wakened  by  the  call  of  a  cock  in  Shepherd's  Market. 

78 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

Perhaps  it  was  this  farmyard  cry  which,  weaving  into 
her  consciousness,  had  made  her  dream  so  strongly  of  the 
old  place  at  home.  When  she  woke  she  could  hardly  be- 
lieve she  was  not  in  the  billowing  four-poster  in  the  great 
attic,  with  pretty  Sister  Susie  asleep  beside  her. 

Again,  the  cold,  foggy,  bleak  London  morning  was  rent 
by  the  crow  of  the  cock.  Then  Pamela  knew  where  she 
was,  and  she  knew,  too,  something  else. 

That  other  self  which  had  got  into  her  must  not  be 
listened  to  on  any  account.  It  must  indeed  be  stamped 
out  of  existence  with  the  utmost  promptitude. 

Now  Pamela  was  considerably  wiser  than  most  young 
women  in  her  position.  She  took  a  sensible  resolution. 

"I'll  go  to  Madame  Mirabel  this  very  morning,"  she  de- 
cided, "and  ask  for  a  Christmas  holiday.  She  won't  refuse 
me,  being  the  good-natured  soul  she  is,  and  me  so  useful  to 
her.  And  once  I  get  home  and  feel  mother's  arms  about 
me — there!  I  know  I'll  be  all  right!  I  needn't  be  afraid 
of  myself  any  more." 

Pamela  Pounce  took  seat  in  the  Dover  coach.  She  was 
in  a  sedate  flutter,  an  admirably  dignified  bustle.  She 
knew  to  the  fraction  of  an  inch  the  amount  of  space  to 
which  she  was  entitled,  and  she  possessed  herself  of  it  de- 
terminedly. She  had,  besides  her  own  agreeable  person, 
divers  bandboxes  and  loose  parcels  to  place,  and  this  she 
did  with  an  amiable  assurance  that  put  protest  to  the 
blush,  and  set  other  passengers'  pretensions  in  a  gross 
light.  When  her  arrangements  were  concluded  she  heaved 
a  sigh,  presented  a  vague  smile,  and  lay  back,  her  hands 
folded,  to  survey  the  other  travelers  at  leisure.  She  was 
herself  better  worth  looking  at  than  any  of  the  coach- 
load, which  contained  a  foreign  couple,  one  or  two  of  the 

79 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


usual  bagmen  on  the  road  to  France,  a  Dover  shopkeeper, 
a  farmer's  wife,  and  an  elderly  gentleman  of  delicate  and 
serious  mien,  who  drew  an  old  calf-bound  volume  from  a 
shabby  bag,  and  fixed  large  gold-mounted  spectacles  upon 
his  high,  transparent  nose  with  all  the  air  of  one  prepared 
with  solace  for  the  journey. 

But  as  he  sat  exactly  opposite  Miss  Pamela  Pounce, 
his  shrewd,  cold  blue  eye  wandered  ever  and  anon  from  the 
print  to  fix  itself  upon  her,  as  though — which  was  indeed 
the  fact — he  were  puzzled  in  what  category  to  place  her. 
It  was  obvious  to  Sir  Everard  Cheveral,  who,  though  im- 
poverished, was  himself  a  gentleman  of  the  first  water, 
that  the  ambulant  nymph  in  front  of  him  was  not  of  his 
class,  perfect  as  was  the  fit  of  her  gray  riding  coat,  refined 
arid  reposeful  as  were  the  hands  in  their  long  gray  gloves, 
tasteful  in  its  coquettishness  as  was  the  gray  riding  toque, 
set  on  chestnut  curls,  and  suitably  as  these  curling  tresses, 
unpowdered,  were  smoothed  away  to  be  tied  with  a  wide 
black  ribbon  at  the  back  of  the  long,  proud  throat. 

In  the  first  instance,  no  young  person  of  family  with 
such  claims  to  distinction  as  her  elaborate  traveling  gear 
pointed  to  would  be  voyaging  in  the  public  coach  unat- 
tended; in  the  second,  in  her  quiet  ease,  and  the  full  yet 
not  immodest  assurance  of  her  glance,  the  manners  of  one 
accustomed  to  fight  the  world  for  herself  were  very  obvious ; 
in  the  third,  there  was  an  indefinable  lack  of  the  never-to- 
be-mistaken  stamp  of  breeding. 

"For  all  your  clever  counterfeit,  my  good  girl,"  re- 
flected Sir  Everard,  "you  haven't  the  ring  of  the  guinea 
gold." 

Yet  he  reproached  himself  for  the  accusation.  Here 
was,  after  all,  no  counterfeit ;  very  good  metal  of  its  kind. 

80 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

"Fine  yellow  brass,"  thought  he  with  a  chuckle.  "All  in 
a  good  sense,  my  dear." 

What  was  she?  From  whence  and  whither  speeding? 
Not  an  actress.  That  fresh,  close-textured  skin  had  never 
known  paint  on  its  flowerlike  surface.  The  cheeks  were 
not  even  rouged;  indeed,  after  the  flush  of  bustle,  the 
color  of  them  was  now  settling  back  in  a  curious  ivory 
pallor,  which  went  well  with  the  ardent  hair.  No  fine 
lady's  young  woman,  every  movement  had  betrayed  con- 
scious independence.  A  shopgirl?  The  wife  of  some 
small  merchant?  Nay,  'twas  the  impersonation  of  maiden 
liberty,  and  what  shopgirl  could  encompass  such  a  wealth 
and  detail  of  modishness  ? 

She  caught  his  gaze  upon  her,  leaned  forward  and 
smiled.  He  had  already  noticed  that  her  smile  was  rather 
dazzling.  He  quite  blinked  to  find  it  addressed  to  himself. 

"I  trust,  sir,"  said  she,  "my  bandboxes  do  not  incom- 
mode you?" 

"By  no  means,  Madam,"  answered  he  civilly ;  and  moved 
his  long  thin  legs  back  a  further  fraction  beneath  his  seat. 

"I  haven't  been  home,"  said  she,  "for  four  years,  and 
luggage  do  grow  when  one  has  five  young  sisters  at  home, 
sir,  and  presents  run  to  hats." 

"To  hats?"  he  repeated  with  that  interested  air  that 
obviates  the  audacity  of  a  question. 

"Along,  sir,"  said  Miss  Pounce,  and  her  smile  broadened, 
"with  me  being  in  the  millinery  business." 

She  drew  herself  up  with  a  very  pretty  and,  to  his  mind, 
becoming  pride. 

"A  business,"  he  said,  "which  I  take  it,  Madam,  is  in  a 
flourishing  condition." 

"You  may  say  so,  sir,"  her  pride  increased.  "Since 
Miss  Pamela  Pounce — that's  me ! — has  been  made  head  of 

81 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


the  department,  Madame  Mirabel  can  scarce  execute  the 
vast  number  of  orders." 

"Upon  my  word !"  He  had  removed  his  spectacles,  and 
was  smiling  on  her  in  his  turn  in  a  kindly,  detached,  faintly 
satiric  way.  "I  trust  Madame  What's-Her-Name  recog- 
nizes her  debt  to  you?" 

The  head  milliner  gave  her  curls  ever  so  slight  a  toss. 

"Well,  sir,  she  wouldn't  like  to  lose  me.  She  knows  I'm 
worth  my  weight  in  gold  to  her." 

His  glance  flickered  over  her  comely  proportions.  Tall, 
generously  made,  he  had  called  her  a  nymph,  "Goddess 
would  have  been  the  better  appellation,"  murmured  he. 

"Well,  'tis  a  comfort  to  an  old  man  like  myself  to  meet 
one  so  youthful  to  whom  work  is  proving  both  fruitful  and 
blessed." 

Miss  Pamela  Pounce  didn't  need  any  old  gentleman  to 
commend  her.  She  knew  the  value  of  work,  and  who  bet- 
ter? And  if  it  was  blessed  to  her,  why  she  took  good  care 
that  it  should  be.  And,  as  to  content  with  her  lot — sure, 
if  she  hadn't  been,  she  wasn't  a  fool,  she'd  have  picked 
out  another  for  herself ! 

"  'Tis  some  old  clergyman,"  she  thought,  and  laughed. 
"He'll  scarce  know  what  a  hat  means.  Clergymen's  wives 
and  daughters  in  the  country  would  give  any  woman  of 
taste  bad  dreams  for  a  fortnight.  There  was  Mrs.  Prue 
Stafford.  Had  she  not  still  to  learn  that  to  wear  pink 
and  blue  with  such  cheeks  as  she  had  was  positive  vulgar? 
And  she  married  to  the  finest  of  fine  gentlemen !" 

Sir  Everard  folded  his  spectacles,  put  them  carefully 
into  his  breast  pocket,  and  closed  his  Virgil.  Here  was 
an  opportunity  of  studying  a — to  him — hitherto  quite 
unknown  branch  of  humanity,  after  an  unexpectedly  pleas- 
ant fashion.  The  girl  pleased  him.  He  had  called  her 

82 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

brass  and  humored  the  simile.  A  shining,  solid  composi- 
tion of  metal  that  took  a  handsome  polish  and  showed 
itself  boldly  for  what  it  was.  He  liked  her  for  her  spring 
of  youth,  her  frank  pride  of  her  trade,  for  having  no  petty 
nonsense  nor  poor  pretentiousness  to  pass  for  what  she 
was  not.  He  liked  her  brave  independence.  There  was, 
he  thought,  a  better  modesty  in  her  quiet  certainty  than 
any  prudish  airs  and  graces  could  have  lent  her. 

"  'Twould  be  a  presuming  fellow,"  he  mused,  "that 
would  dare  to  try  his  gallant  ways  with  such  an  one,  and 
if  he  did,  I  would  back  my  young  milliner  to  teach  him  a 
lesson." 

She  told  him  how  she  had,  so  to  speak,  graduated  in 
Paris  which  accounted,  thought  he,  for  a  taste  that  was 
scarcely  indigenous.  And  her  home  was  between  Canter- 
bury and  Dover,  and  she,  brought  up  till  seventeen  on 
the  farm,  the  eldest  of  eleven.  Then  he  knew  whence  she 
had  drawn  that  sap  of  splendid  vigor;  a  hardy  flower  of 
English  soil.  And,  the  chief  of  his  many  prides  being  that 
he  was  an  Englishman,  he  was  still  better  content. 

She  would  alight,  she  told  him  at  The  Rose  at  Can- 
terbury where  she  would  lie  the  night.  And  father  would 
fetch  her  in  the  morning;  for  'twas  mortal  cold  across  the 
downs  on  a  winter's  evening  and  'twas  a  long  drive  for 
the  mare  even  in  good  weather. 

"Bravo,"  said  he,  "I,  too,  halt  at  The  Rose,  I  am  glad 
to  know  that  I  shall  have  such  good  company.  May  I 
sit  beside  you  at  supper  in  the  eating  room,  my  dear 
young  lady?" 

"Oh,  you're  vastly  obliging,  sir!"  said  Pamela  Pounce. 
A  faint  pink  crept,  like  the  color  of  a  shell,  into  her 
smooth,  pale  cheek,  for  she  had  a  good  eye  for  a  gentle- 
man, and  she  knew  that  she  was  honored. 

83 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Her  tongue  ran  on  gayly,  and  he  listened  with  a  gentle 
air  of  courtesy  and  an  interest  which,  in  truth,  was  not 
assumed. 

In  spite  of  her  sophisticated  manner,  her  chatter  was 
very  artless.  It  was  a  revelation  of  a  character  which 
had  remained  curiously  untouched  by  the  world.  The 
busy  mart  in  which  she  lived  had  cast  none  of  its  dust 
upon  her  soul. 

Dear,  to  be  sure,  how  prodigious  joyful  they  would  be 
at  home  to  see  her  back  ! 

"Four  years,  sir,  think  on  it !  I  was  but  a  child  when 
I  left  them,  and  now  I'm  a  woman!"  'Twas  like,  indeed, 
that  none  would  recognize  her  again,  should  they  just  hap- 
pen to  meet,  accidental  like.  She  half  wished  she  could 
have  walked  in  upon  them  and  taken  them  by  surprise. 
But  then:  "Father,  sir,  would  ha'  lost  the  pleasure  of 
coming  to  fetch  me,"  and  her  mother  might  have  been 
vexed.  "Mother's  very  house-proud,  sir.  She'd  want  to 
have  things  pretty  for  me,  and  bake  cakes  and  that." 

And  they'd  all  be  looking  out  for  her  on  the  house 
step.  Just  to  think  of  their  dear  faces  fair  turned  her 
silly !  She  blinked  away  a  tear  and  gave  her  bright  smile* 
But  as  he  smiled  back  it  was  with  a  certain  melancholy. 
The  farmer  with  his  eleven  children — poor,  struggling  fel- 
low ! — the  hard-worked  mother,  the  good,  industrious  child, 
returning  home  with  her  hands  full  of  gifts,  blessed  in  her 
honest  toil  for  them,  were  they  not  all  about  to  taste  joys 
from  which  he  had  deliberately  cut  himself  off  in  his  fas- 
tidious isolation?  He  had  scarcely  ever  regretted  his 
chosen  solitariness.  His  beautiful  old  shabby  house,  set 
in  the  loneliness  of  the  snowy  park,  the  wood  fire  in  the 
library  in  the  company  of  a  favorite  book,  the  ministra- 
tions of  a  couple  of  well-drilled  servants,  an  austere 

84 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

silence,  a  harmonious  communion  with  the  high  spirits  of 
the  dead ;  that  was  the  Christmas  to  which  he  himself  had 
looked  forward  with  complacency.  Now  he  wondered ;  his 
heart  contracted  with  a  most  unusual  sense  of  pain;  had 
he  lost  the  best  in  life?  If  he  had  had  a  daughter  by  his 
shoulder  with  a  white,  pure  forehead  such  as  this  girl  had, 
and  had  seen  her  eyes  fire  with  love,  heard  her  voice 
tremble  at  the  thought  of  meeting  him,  her  old  father! 
would  not  that  have  brought  him  a  sweetness  finer  than 
the  most  exquisite  page  in  Virgil? 

The  day,  which  had  opened  blue  and  gold,  with  a  high 
wind  and  clear  sunshine,  began  to  gather  threatening 
clouds  by  the  time  the  posting  station  was  reached;  and 
the  Dover  High-Flyer  plunged  away  again  into  a  snow 
squall  with  all  the  speed  of  its  fresh  horses. 

"We  are  like  to  have  a  seasonable  Christmas,"  quoth  Sir 
Everard,  and  was  pleased  to  note  that,  while  the  rest  of 
the  company  grumbled  and  complained,  the  fine  specimen 
of  young  womanhood  opposite  him  produced  a  warm  shawl 
from  a  bundle,  tucked  it  round  her  knees,  and  offered  him 
the  other  end,  declaring,  with  a  smile,  that  she  was  as 
warm  as  a  toast,  and  that  she  did  love  a  white  Christmas. 

They  all  dined  at  Rochester,  and  had  hot  punch,  of 
which  Miss  Pounce  partook  with  enthusiasm,  but  in  very 
discreet  measure. 

Conversation  flagged  on  this,  their  last,  stage.  The 
snoring  of  the  foreign  pair  who,  having  tied  their  heads  up 
in  terrible  colored  handkerchiefs,  leaned  against  each  other 
and  gave  themselves  up  to  repose  with  much  the  same 
animal  abandonment  as  that  with  which  they  had  gobbled 
the  beef-steak  pie  and  gulped  the  hot  rum  of  the  Bull  Inn 
at  Rochester;  the  sighing  fidgets  of  the  farmer's  wife, 
and  the  grunts  of  her  neighbor,  the  Dover  tradesman, 

85 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


each  time  they  jarred  him  from  a  fitful  somnolence,  alone 
broke  the  inner  stillness.  Without,  the  multiple  rhythm 
of  the  horses'  hoofs  and  the  varying  answer  of  the  road 
to  the  wheels — now  the  scrunch  of  cobblestones,  now  the 
slushy  whisper  of  the  snow-filled  rut,  now  the  whirring 
ring  of  a  well-metaled  stretch — formed  a  monotonous 
whole  which  lulled  to  silence  those  who  could  not  sleep. 

Sir  Everard  saw,  by  the  shifting  flicker  of  the  lamps, 
how  pensiveness  gathered  on  the  bright  face  opposite  him. 
Once  or  twice  the  girl  raised  a  finger  to  the  corner  of  her 
eyelid  as  if  to  press  back  a  rising  tear;  sighs  lifted  her 
bosom. 

"Ah!"  thought  the  old  philosopher,  "the  Goddess  of 
Modes  is  not  so  fancy-free  as  I  had  thought.  Here,  truly, 
are  all  the  signs  of  a  gentle  love  tale.  Perhaps  the  young 
man  is  in  the  countinghouse,  or  some  sprightly  haber- 
dasher, who  sees  Miss  pass  to  her  work,  and  would  fain 
capture  for  his  own  counter  a  face  so  fair  and  charming." 

Sir  Everard  felt  very  old  and  stiff  by  the  time  Canter- 
bury was  reached,  and  half  regretted  his  suggestion  to  his 
traveling  companion,  to  continue  their  comradeship  at 
supper.  He  thought  it  might  have  better  become  his  years 
and  aching  bones  to  retire  into  a  feather  bed  with  a  basin 
of  gruel.  Far  indeed  was  he  from  guessing  the  singular 
emotions  into  which  his  old  age  was  destined  to  be  plunged 
that  evening. 

A  fine  room  with  a  four-poster,  no  less  indeed  than  the 
chamber  which  went  by  the  name  of  "Great  Queen  Anne," 
this  was  what  the  landlord  proposed  to  allot  to  Sir 
Everard.  A  chimney  you  couldn't  beat  in  the  kingdom 
for  drawing,  mine  host  averred,  and  a  fire  there  this  min- 

86 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

ute;  agreeable  to  Sir  Everard's  obliging  communication. 
And  what  could  he  do  for  Miss? 

Sir  Everard  was  a  little  shocked  to  hear  Miss  Pounce 
enter  upon  a  brisk  bargain  for  an  attic,  and  hesitat- 
ingly began  a  courteous  offer  of  his  own  apartment,  when 
she  interrupted  him  with  the  valiant  good  sense  which  he 
had  already  had  cause  to  admire  in  her. 

"Not  at  all,  sir!  'Tis  what  suits  my  station — so  long 
as  the  sheets  are  clean  and  there's  a  good  bolt  to  the 
door;  you'll  promise  me  that,  Mr.  Landlord?  And  if 
you  can't  spare  a  warming  pan,  sure  a  hot  brick  will  do 
vastly  well.  And  now,  sir,  give  me  time  to  see  my  band- 
boxes in  safety,  and  I'm  for  supper." 

Even  as  she  spoke  she  started.  Her  eye  became  fixed, 
her  lips  fell  open  upon  a  gasp  of  amazement.  The 
healthy  white  bloom  of  her  countenance  turned  to  deathly 
pallor,  and  then  a  tide  of  blood  rushed  crimsoning  to 
her  forehead.  Beholding  this  evidence  of  strong  emo- 
tion, it  scarcely  needed  the  sight  that  met  Sir  Everard's 
glance  as  he  followed  the  direction  of  her  eyes  to  con- 
firm his  instant  conclusion.  The  young  man,  of  course! 
Stay,  the  young  man  is  a  gentleman — poor  nymph! 
Here  then  were  joy,  fear,  confusion,  the  warning  of  con- 
science, and  artless  passion,  all  mixed  together. 

The  young  gentleman  advanced;  a  fine  buck,  of  the 
very  kind,  thought  Sir  Everard,  who  took  an  instanta- 
neous dislike  to  him,  to  turn  the  head  of  any  girl  beneath 
him  in  station,  whom  he  might  honor  with  his  conquering 
regard.  There  was  a  black-and-white  handsomeness  about 
his  chiseled  countenance;  all  the  powder  in  the  world 
could  not  disguise  that  those  jet  eyebrows  were  matched 
with  a  raven  spring  of  hair.  With  a  smile,  a  dilation  of 
nostrils,  a  swagger  of  broad  shoulders,  a  leisurely  step 

87 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


of  high-booted  legs,  he  came  forward  out  of  the  tap 
room.  No  surprise  on  his  side:  my  gentleman  had 
planned  the  meeting. 

"La,  Mr.  Bellairs  1"  Pamela  Pounce  exclaimed,  and  her 
voice*  trembled.  Then  she  rallied,  and  strove  to  pursue 
with  lightness,  "Who  ever  would  have  thought  of  seeing 
you  here?" 

He  took  her  hand  and  lifted  it  to  his  lips  with  an 
exaggerated  courtesy,  as  if  he  mocked  himself  for  it  the 
while. 

"Why,  did  I  not  guess  rightly,  my  dear,  you  would 
be  spending  a  lonely  evening  here  on  your  way  home?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bellairs !" 

He  kept  her  hand  in  his,  to  draw  her  apart.  Sir  Ever- 
ard,  gazing  at  them,  his  chin  sunk  in  his  muffler,  with 
severe,  sad  eyes  saw  how  she  swayed  towards  him,  as 
she  went  into  the  window  recess,  as  if  her  very  soul 
floated  on  the  music  of  his  voice.  He  watched  them 
whisper  ardently  together,  and  then  she  went  by  him 
like  a  tornado,  picking  up  her  bandboxes  as  she  passed, 
quite  oblivious  of  his  presence,  or  of  anything,  appar- 
ently, save  the  young  rascal,  so  Sir  Everard  apostro- 
phized him,  who  stood  gazing  after  her  with  the  same 
insufferable  smile;  the  smile  of  the  easy  conqueror. 

Sir  Everard  never  had  had  a  high  opinion  of  women. 
Life  had  given  him  no  reason  to  indulge  in  illusions.  But 
now  all  his  condemnation  was  for  the  man.  The  strong, 
self-reliant  creature  who  had  faced  him  all  those  weary 
hours  with  such  unalterable  good  humor,  such  a  candid 
outlook,  such  a  pleasant  acceptance  of  her  own  position 
that  it  was  the  next  thing  to  high  breeding,  what  was 
this  Captain  Lothario  planning  to  make  of  her?  And 
how,  since  he  had  found  her  already  so  hard  to  win  that 

88 


he  must  travel  to  Canterbury  for  the  purpose,  did  she 
now  thus  readily  yield  herself  to  his  plucking  hand?  Aye, 
the  villain  had  struck  at  some  peril  point  in  the  life  of 
her  soul.  The  child  was  tired  after  her  long  journey; 
tired,  too,  perhaps,  by  the  mental  conflict  from  which 
her  integrity  had  hitherto  emerged  triumphant.  A  sud- 
den assault  had  found  the  fortress  unprepared.  'Twas 
the  old  story! 

Sir  Everard  went  wearily  to  his  room.  The  thought 
of  the  feather  bed  and  the  gruel,  of  a  selfish  withdrawal 
from  further  association  with  what  was  like  to  end  in 
sordid  tragedy  tempted  him  perhaps,  but  he  did  not  yield 
to  it.  The  girl's  smile  haunted  him.  It  had  been  so 
brightly  innocent;  and  he  was  haunted,  too,  by  the  last 
memory  of  her  face,  stricken  with  astonishment,  quiver- 
ing with  joy.  However  she  might  fall,  it  would  not  be 
through  light-mindedness.  The  folly,  the  misery,  was 
deep  rooted  in  her  poor  heart. 

He  made  a  careful  toilet,  and  went  down  the  slippery 
oak  stairs,  leaning  on  his  gold-headed  cane,  looking  a 
very  great  personage  indeed,  delicately  austere  and  nobly 
haughty. 

Alas !  Pamela  never  so  much  as  lifted  her  radiant  head 
when  he  came  into  the  eating  room.  She  was  seated 
beside  her  gallant  at  the  end  of  the  table  in  close  con- 
versation— that  whispered,  blushing,  laughing,  sighing 
conversation  of  lovers — and  if  the  roof  had  fallen  over 
them,  Sir  Everard  thought,  the  two  would  scarce  have 
noticed  it,  so  absorbed  were  they  in  each  other. 

The  young  man  had  ordered  champagne,  and  the  girl's 
glass  was  filled,  but  the  bubbling  wine  had  barely  been 
touched.  Another  intoxication,  more  deadly  and  more 
sure,  was  working  through  her  veins.  The  old  philoso- 

89 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


pher,  seeing  her  condition,  resigned  for  the  moment  all 
thought  of  interference,  and  sat  down  to  his  bottle  of 
claret  and  bowl  of  broth. 

Hardly,  however,  had  he  broken  his  hot  roll,  than  the 
room  was  invaded  by  fresh  arrivals ;  a  young  woman, 
wrapped  in  furs,  conducted  by  a  gentleman  who  had  not 
removed  his  traveling  coat,  and  kept  his  hat  pressed 
on  his  brows;  a  personage  who  entered  with  an  intoler- 
able arrogance  as  if  the  place  belonged  to  him,  who  or- 
dered champagne  and  supper  for  the  lady,  and  fresh 
horses  for  his  coach,  in  a  voice  which  rang  like  the  crack 
of  a  whip.  He  could  not  wait;  the  servers  must  bustle. 
A  guinea  each  to  the  ostlers  if  they  harnessed  within  ten 
minutes.  "And,  hark  ye,  sirrah,  a  bottle  of  your  best 
Sillery,  and " 

"Surely  I  know  this  autocratic  fellow,"  thought  Sir 
Everard,  and,  as  the  traveler  drew  his  companion  with 
an  imperative  sweep  of  his  arm  about  her,  to  the  end  of 
the  table  opposite  to  that  at  which  Mr.  Bellairs  and  His 
Dulcinea  were  seated.  "My  Lord  Sanquhar!"  cried  Sir 
Everard,  "by  all  that's  outrageous !  And  who  in  the  name 
of  pity  is  his  victim  now?" 

That  the  two  were  lovers,  of  a  stage  considerably  more 
advanced  than  the  poor  milliner  and  her  Beau,  was  ob- 
vious to  the  onlooker;  and  as  my  Lord  Sanquhar  now 
tore  his  hat  from  his  head,  to  dash  the  snow  that  cov- 
ered it  into  the  fire,  where  it  hissed  and  spluttered  like  a 
curse,  the  young  woman  who  accompanied  him  let  her- 
self fall  on  the  settle  and  turned  a  look  of  darkling  chal- 
lenge, of  brooding  suspicion,  into  the  room. 

She  was  clad  in  the  most  sumptuous  garments.  There 
was  a  bloom  of  royal  purple  against  the  tawny  clouds 
of  her  sables.  There  was  a  fire  of  ruby  at  her  throat, 

90 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

caught  up  and  repeated  at  each  ear,  as  if  deep  gouts  of  a 
lover's  blood  had  taken  to  themselves  flame  for  her  adorn- 
ing. But  the  countenance  she  turned  upon  the  room  was, 
Sir  Everard  thought,  so  striking,  that  all  this  splendor 
seemed  its  natural  attribute;  striking,  with  a  Spanish 
beauty,  a  richness  and  depth  of  color,  with  flashing  orbs, 
high  nostrils,  and  scarlet  lips. 

"Good  heavens!"  Sir  Everard  mused,  "where  has  he 
picked  the  jade?  Victim?  Nay,  'tis  the  kind  that  keeps 
a  knife  in  her  stocking  and  will  whip  it  out  and  under 
your  rib,  and  make  an  end  of  you  with  less  ado  than  an- 
other will  shed  a  tear !  My  Lord  Sanquhar  will  have  to 
look  out  for  himself.  Illicit  love,  is  a  dangerously  charged 
atmosphere  in  which  to  handle  live  gunpowder." 

The  Dover  High-Flyer  had  only  dropped  two  of  its 
passengers  at  The  Rose,  and  the  landlord  was  free  to 
attend  to  his  imperious  guest.  He  himself  served  my 
Lord  Sanquhar's  champagne,  and  with  bent  back  re- 
ceived his  "pishs"  and  "pshaws"  on  the  dearth  of  proper 
entertainment  for  tlie  lady.  She  wanted  fresh  fruit,  and 
there  was  none.  She  asked  for  chocolate,  and  pettishly 
refused  to  touch  it.  One  sniff  was  enough.  All  her 
desires  and  denials  she  communicated  in  a  guttural  un- 
dertone to  her  companion,  who  translated  them  into  oaths. 

Sir  Everard,  who  had  had  but  a  poor  appetite,  was 
now,  his  broth  bowl  pushed  on  one  side,  dipping  bits  of 
roll  into  his  wine  after  a  foreign  fashion,  and  watching 
the  while  the  two  sets  of  lovers  at  the  further  end  of 
the  room.  He  noticed  not  without  some  satisfaction, 
that  constraint  had  fallen  upon  the  ardent  Bellairs  and 
his  fair  milliner.  The  color  on  the  young  man's  face 
fluctuated.  He  bit  his  lip  and  shot  doubtful  looks  of 
question  from  the  blatant  couple  to  the  downcast  counte- 

91 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


nance  of  his  companion,  who  had  grown  very  pale,  scarcely 
spoke,  and  seemed  now  and  again  as  if  she  were  struggling 
with  tears. 

A  clatter  of  hoofs,  the  clang  of  a  bell,  and  a  shout 
from  the  door  announced  yet  another  guest,  a  solitary 
horseman,  it  seemed.  The  landlord,  who  was  just  enter- 
ing the  room  with  a  plate  of  dried  plums  in  the  hope 
of  tempting  the  appetite  of  the  capricious  lady — he  had 
scented  my  Lord's  quality  with  unerring  nose — here  thrust 
the  dish  into  the  hands  of  a  waiter  and  turned  back  to 
receive  the  newcomer.  He  left  the  door  open  behind  him, 
and  all  could  hear  the  passionate  explosion  of  a  hoarse 
voice  in  the  hall.  The  dark  little  lady  on  the  settle  by 
the  fire  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  stood,  tense.  Her  com- 
panion gave  a  swift,  frowning  look  of  surprise.  Sir  Ever- 
ard,  gazing  upon  her  also,  drew  a  quick  breath.  "By 
the  immortal  gods,"  said  he  to  himself,  "the  drama  is 
coming  swifter  than  one  could  have  imagined!"  And,  in- 
deed, what  the  ancient  quiet  inn  was  destined  to  hold 
for  the  next  ten  minutes  in  the  way  of  human  passion, 
conflict,  and  tragedy,  might  happily  be  never  as  much  as 
guessed  at  in  the  lifetime  of  most  men! 

The  landlord,  his  wig  awry,  his  features  discomposed, 
puffing  and  blustering,  was  vainly  endeavoring  to  pre- 
prevent  the  ingress  of  a  small  thickset  man  who,  though 
wrapped  in  a  cloak  and  carrying  some  considerable  bur- 
den which  he  kept  hidden  under  its  folds,  contrived  by 
a  single  violent  thrust  of  his  shoulder,  to  send  him  spin- 
ning out  of  the  way.  The  intruder  advanced  then  at  a 
headlong  run,  brought  himself  up  short,  flung  back  his 
cloak  and,  with  the  same  gesture,  his  hat,  and  stood  re- 
vealed, swarthy,  grizzled,  livid,  panting  through  dilated 
nostrils,  glaring  upon  the  woman  by  the  settle.  There 

92 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

was  a  great  flare  of  color  on  his  broad  chest,  where, 
wound  in  a  scarlet  shawl,  a  little  child  of  about  two,  with 
a  head  of  curls  of  that  dark  copper  hue  destined  to  turn 
black  with  years,  lay  placidly  asleep ;  the  curve  of  a  plump 
apricot  cheek  was  all  that  was  visible  of  its  face. 

"Good  heavens !"  said  Sir  Everard  and  at  the  sight  of 
the  sleeping  innocence,  something  in  his  old  heart  began 
to  lament. 

There  was  a  moment's  extraordinary  silence,  broken 
only  by  the  breathing  of  the  man  with  the  child,  which 
hissed  through  his  set  teeth  like  the  strokes  of  a  saw. 
Then  my  Lord  Sanquhar  laughed. 

The  man  leaped  as  if  he  had  been  struck.  A  torrent  of 
words  broke  from  him,  guttural,  fierce,  intolerably  an- 
guished. Sir  Everard  knew  a  little  Spanish. 

The  unfortunate  was  pleading:  "Come  back,  come  back! 
I  will  forgive  all.  Come  back,  Dolores,  you  cannot  leave 
us.  You  cannot  leave  the  little  one.  Come  back  in  the 
name  of  God,  in  the  name  of  His  Holy  Mother.  Madre  di 
Dios,  look  at  her !  You  cannot  leave  that !  Ah !  unhappy 
one,  you  want  gold  and  jewels.  Was  not  our  love  your 
treasure?  Is  not  our  child  a  pearl?  Look  at  her!" 

In  singular  contrast  to  the  unrestrained  violence  of  his 
outburst,  the  manner  in  which  he  held  out  the  child  was 
pure,  tender.  The  little  one  awoke,  stared  about  her  with 
devouring  black  eyes  of  amazement,  caught  sight  of  the 
standing  woman's  face  and  cried  joyfully,  beating  the  air 
with  minute  dusky  hands,  "Mamma,  Mamma !" 

At  this  a  sob  burst  from  the  unhappy  Father,  so  deep 
and  tortured  it  was  as  if  it  rent  him. 

"Dolores,  our  little  girl,  she  calls  you:  'Mamma, 
Mamma !'  Call  again,  my  angel :  'Mamma,  Mamma !'  " 

93 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


He  went  down  on  his  knees  and  held  out  the  babe ;  and 
as  he  did  so  she  wailed. 

The  mother,  meanwhile,  stood,  insolent  lids  half  closed, 
red  lips  thrust  forward,  tapping  the  floor  with  impatient 
foot,  the  embodiment  of  cruel  disdain. 

At  her  child's  cry  she  stuffed  her  fingers  into  her  ears 
with  savage  gesture;  stamped,  and  flung  a  raging  glance 
at  her  lover  as  one  who  said,  "How  long  am  I  to  endure 
this?" 

He  answered  it  by  the  movement  of  a  beckoning  finger, 
which  brought  her  to  his  side.  Then  he  cast  a  gold  piece 
on  the  table,  clapped  his  hat  on  his  head,  and  together 
they  moved  towards  the  door. 

"Ah !    By  the  blessed  saints !" 

The  Spaniard  in  a  bound  was  before  them.  He  shook 
the  screaming  infant  in  their  faces  as  if  it  had  been  a 
weapon. 

"I  swear  this  shall  not  be !  I  swear  that  I  shall  kill  you 
and  your  paramour  and  the  child  and  myself  rather  than 
that  this  shall  be!" 

It  was  here  that  Pamela  caught  the  little  one  from  him. 
He  was  perhaps  too  far  gone  in  passion  to  notice  the 
action ;  perhaps  he  was  glad  to  have  his  hands  free  for  his 
fierce  purpose — anyhow,  he  relaxed  his  hold.  And  the  girl, 
clasping  the  baby  in  her  arms,  hushing  it  and  soothing  it, 
ran  with  it  to  the  farther  end  of  the  room.  Sir  Everard 
had  also  risen  and  Bellairs  had  started  forward.  But  it 
would  have  been  as  easy  to  balk  a  wild  cat  of  its  leap  as 
to  arrest  the  betrayed  husband  in  his  spring  upon  his 
betrayer. 

No  one  ever  quite  knew  how  it  happened.  There  was 
the  flash  of  a  knife,  an  oath ;  my  Lord  Sanquhar's  "Damn 
you,  you  would  have  it!"  and  the  explosion  of  a  pistol. 

94 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

The  Spaniard  fell  without  a  groan,  right  across  the 
doorway.  Sir  Everard  and  Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs  both 
knew  that  he  was  a  dead  man  before  he  touched  the  ground. 

"You  are  witness  all,"  said  my  Lord  Sanquhar,  "that 
this  was  in  self-defense." 

The  woman  cast  a  backward  glance  into  the  room.  Her 
rich  bloom  had  faded.  She  was  white,  but  with  a  palpi- 
tating whiteness  as  of  fire  most  intense;  the  gaze  of  her 
great  eyes  was  as  fire,  too.  Almost  red  they  shone,  repeat- 
ing the  blood  fires  of  the  rubies.  Then  she  gave  herself 
to  Lord  Sanquhar's  embrace,  and  together  they  rushed 
out  into  the  night. 

"Odds  my  life!"  said  Mr.  Bellairs,  looking  up  at  Sir 
Everard.  He  had  flung  himself  on  one  knee  beside  the 
stricken  man,  and  was  going  through  the  vain  parade  of 
seeking  for  a  pulse  which  he  knew  no  longer  beat.  "Did 
you  see  that,  sir?" 

"He  lifted  her  across  her  husband's  very  body!  He 
lifted  her  right  across  the  body!"  said  Sir  Everard,  in  a 
hushed  voice  of  disgust. 

"Lifted  her?     Sir,  she  jumped!" 

Pamela  kept  the  child's  face  turned  against  her  breast 
with  a  loving  hand,  and  as  she  rocked  and  soothed,  she 
herself  wept  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Through  the  doors,  cast  open  to  the  night,  the  roar  of 
a  new  snow  wind  hurtled  in  upon  them.  There  followed  a 
sudden  clamor  of  voices,  as  the  host  endeavored  to  arrest 
my  Lord's  departure  and  was  borne  down,  well-nigh  anni- 
'  hilated,  from  his  path ;  the  crackling  shout  of  my  Lord's 
orders,  the  plunge  and  clatter  of  hoofs  on  the  cobbles.  It 
seemed  as  if  the  bloodguilty  pair  had  gone  on  the  wings 
of  the  storm,  and  that  the  very  elements  cried  after  them 
as  they  went. 

95 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Sir  Everard,  as  the  most  responsible  witness,  assisted 
the  landlord  in  the  preliminary  investigation  of  magis- 
trate and  constable.  He  took  a  certain  grim  pleasure  in 
furnishing  Lord  Sanquhar's  name,  and  trusted  the  noble- 
man might  be  summoned  to  answer  for  his  action.  Even 
if  acquittal  were  a  foregone  conclusion,  to  a  reputation 
already  tarnished,  this  incident  was  not  likely  to  add  a 
luster.  By  the  quality  of  the  murdered  man's  clothes,  the 
massive  gold  of  his  watch  chain,  the  signet  ring  on  his  dead 
hand,  it  was  judged  that  he  was  a  merchant  of  the  better 
class,  and  that  the  unfortunate  incident  would  probably 
make  some  stir  among  his  compatriots. 

The  cold  and  stiffening  body  which  had  been  so  short  a 
while  before  pulsing  with  agony  and  passion,  was  laid  in 
the  harness-room  of  the  inn,  covered  with  a  white  sheet. 
Scarce  ten  yards  away  the  gray  horse  that  had  borne  its 
rider  on  the  wild  race  to  death  was  placidly  munching  its 
corn,  the  sweat  not  yet  dry  on  its  flanks. 

When  Sir  Everard  returned  to  the  eating  room  he  found 
Pamela  still  on  the  settle,  the  child  asleep  on  her  lap.  On 
the  board  beside  her  a  half-finished  bowl  of  bread  and  milk 
showed  that  she  had  been  occupied  with  the  worse  than 
motherless  babe,  while  he  had  attended  to  the  last  con- 
cerns of  its  doomed  father.  On  the  other  side  of  the 
hearth,  one  elbow  propped  on  the  high  mantelshelf  stood 
Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs.  The  old  man's  entrance  had  evi- 
dently interrupted  a  conversation  between  the  two  lovers, 
of  an  interest  so  vital  that  both  the  faces  now  turned  upon 
him  were  stamped  with  fierce  emotion. 

Sir  Everard  removed  a  chair  from  before  the  table  and 
sat  down  on  it  facing  the  fire,  and  for  a  space  no  one 
spoke. 

Pamela  had  cast  the  scarlet  shawl  across  one  shoulder, 

96 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

so  as  to  shade  the  child's  head  from  the  light.     Her  hand 
patted  and  her  knees  swayed,  rocking  the  infant  sleeper. 

"Poor  little  creature!"  said  Sir  Everard  at  last. 

The  girl  gave  him  a  quick  glance. 

"I'll  keep  her  to-night.  I've  told  the  landlord  I  would, 
and  I'd  keep  her  always  if  I  could." 

"  'Tis  a  generous  thought,"  said  the  old  gentleman, 
with  a  faint  smile  for  the  magnanimous  impracticabilities 
of  youth,  and  as  he  smiled  he  was  aware  that  Mr.  Bellairs 
snapped  his  fingers  and  jerked  his  foot,  on  the  edge  of 
an  irritable  outburst. 

Suddenly  Pamela  began  to  sob  quickly  under  her  breath, 
turned  her  head  aside  so  that  her  tears  should  not  fall  on 
the  little  placid  face. 

"I've  been  a  wicked  girl !    A  wicked  girl !" 

"Hush !"  cried  Mr.  Bellairs,  and  flung  out  his  hand. 

"No,  sir ;  I  won't  be  silent !" 

"But,  good  God,  my  dear,  need  you  drag  this  stranger 
into  our  intimate  concerns?" 

"He's  no  stranger  to  me,  Mr.  Bellairs.  We  traveled 
down  in  the  coach  together,  and  he  couldn't  have  been 
more  civil  to  me  if  I'd  been  a  lady  born ;  no,  nor  kinder  if 
he'd  been  my  father.  Oh,  sir,  I  don't  know  your  name,  but 
I  know  by  the  pitying  way  you  looked  at  me  that  you 
understood  what  dreadful  danger  I  was  in  and  how" — 
again  she  sobbed — "how  ready  I  was  to  yield  to  it! 
He  wanted  me  to  go  to  Paris  with  him.  He  did,  indeed! 
He  wanted  his  love  to  be  my  all  in  all,  and  nothing  else 
was  to  matter.  I've  been  a  wicked  girl !  I  listened  to  him. 
I  never  would  listen  to  him  before — not  when  he  spoke  like 
that — but  to-night  I  did.  Heaven  forgive  me!  What 
took  me?" 

"Confound !"  said  Mr.  Bellairs. 

97 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


He  wheeled  away  from  the  sight  of  her  weeping, 
clutched  the  mantelpiece  with  both  hands  and  dropped  his 
head  on  them. 

"Well,  'tis  all  over  now." 

Sir  Everard  spoke  uneasily.  This  openness  upon  a  sub- 
ject so  delicate  was  painful  to  him;  but  Pamela  had  the 
yearning  to  relieve  herself  by  confession. 

"Oh,  sir,  how  could  I  do  it?  I  don't  know  myself. 
I  swear  when  I  look  back,  'tis  as  if  I  had  not  been  myself 
at  all.  Something  came  into  me — so  rash,  so  desperate ! — 
'Twas  as  if  nothing  mattered  but  just  his  love,  our  love. 
And  then — then — when  those  two  came  in  I  saw  our  sin 
as  it  was.  Oh,  heavens !  Oh,  Heaven  forgive  me !  Murder 
and  every  evil  was  there.  Would  I  not  have  been  just  as 
cruel,  done  just  as  horrid  murder?  When  the  truth  came 
out,  would  my  father  and  mother  and  my  own  dear  loves 
at  home,  waiting  for  me  so  fond  and  so  trusting  and  so 
proud  of  their  poor,  silly  Pam,  ever  have  held  up  their 
heads  again?  Oh,  base,  base!  I  would  have  murdered 
them  for  my  pleasure.  And  that  love,  what  was  it  ?  The 
thing  that  those  two  looked  at  each  other,  something  vile, 
something  that  brought  contamination  even  just  to  see  go 
between  them.  Did  he  and  I  look  at  each  other  like  that? 
It  turned  me  sick  even  to  think  on  even  before — before 
that  poor,  poor  man  came  in !  Heaven  forgive  me ! 
Heaven  strike  those  two  in  their  bad  hearts !  Oh,  sir,  did 
you  look  at  her  when  she  stared  back  upon  us,  that 
woman?  I  suppose  there  was  beauty  in  her  face;  I  sup- 
pose he  who  went  with  her  thought  her  handsome  airs 
worth  the  cruelty  and  the  blood  and  the  crime  on  his  soul. 
But  to  me  she  was  ugly,  all  ugly,  with  the  ugliness  of  her 
sin " 

She  broke  off,  bit  her  quivering  lip,  and  stared  fixedly 

98 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

•before  her ;  an  expression  of  horror  on  her  countenance  as 
if  she  still  beheld  the  ugliness  of  which  she  spoke. 

Mr.  Bellairs  straightened  himself  and  snapped  his  fingers 
again. 

"Tall  talk,  my  dear,"  he  began;  and  then  broke  off, 
dropped  his  eyes  under  Sir  Everard's  stern  gaze,  and 
stood  abashed.  Then :  "Perhaps  you're  right,"  he  said  in 
an  altered,  strangled  voice;  and  dashed  from  the  room  as 
if  driven. 

Pamela  started,  glanced  after  him,  and  then  wiped  her 
wet  cheeks  with  the  end  of  the  baby's  shawl. 

"Let  him  go,"  she  said. 

"You're  a  brave  girl." 

"Oh,  no,  sir !  Only  so  grateful,  so  wonderfully  saved,  so 
ashamed.  Oh,  this  little  creature  against  my  breast — 
must  I  not  feel  it? — think  of  it? — if  I  had  had  my  foolish 
way  I  should  never  have  been  worthy  to  hold  such  a  lovely, 
lovely  little  dear  in  my  arms  again." 

Sir  Everard  insisted  on  lighting  Pamela  to  her  attic 
chamber.  She  went  up  before  him  with  a  step  so  elastic, 
in  spite  of  the  burden  of  the  child  in  her  arms,  that  she 
had  to  wait  for  him  on  every  landing;  which  she  did  with 
a  return  of  her  bright  amiability  and  even  a  flicker  of 
its  former  radiance  in  her  smile.  Each  time  she  halted 
she  rocked  the  baby,  swaying  from  foot  to  foot,  murmur- 
ing under  her  breath  a  crooning  song  which  the  old  man 
thought  very  sweet ;  so  sweet  indeed,  that,  with  a  swing 
of  memory's  pendulum  it  brought  him  back  to  his  own 
childhood  days  and  the  tender  face  of  his  mother,  long 
dead — a  mother  who  had  never  been  old  like  him. 

On  the  threshold  of  her  poor  room  they  parted.  She 
spared  him  her  right  hand  for  a  second  from  its  motherly 

99 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


caressing  and  patting  of  the  child  which  she  bore  with 
such  ease  on  her  left  arm.  He  bowed  over  it  as  if  it  had 
been  his  queen's. 

When  he  went  down  to  the  flaming  hearth  which  justi- 
fied the  landlord's  boast,  he  sat  long  by  it. 

He  who  had  hitherto  lived  apart  in  a  world  of  books 
found  his  mind  obsessed  by  the  thought  of  the  frightful 
passions  of  humanity  as  they  had  this  night  played  them- 
selves out  before  him. 

The  whole  scene  reproduced  itself  in  his  tired  brain  with 
the  colors  of  life ;  Lord  Sanquhar's  sardonic,  pale,  haughty 
face,  the  rich  vividness,  the  unblessed  allurement,  the  cruel 
beauty  of  the  unfaithful  wife ;  the  Spaniard's  agony ;  the 
irredeemable  tragedy  of  that  picture  of  the  father  with 
the  child;  then  the  dead  face. 

"Heaven  strike  their  bad  hearts !"  had  cried  Pamela  in 
her  honest  revulsion.  Could  God  ever  forgive  those  who 
had  sent  forth  the  soul  of  their  victim  so  charged  with 
fury  and  despair  that  even  death  could  bring  no  peace  to 
his  brow? 

And  then  he"  thought  of  Pamela's  face  as  he  had  last 
seen  it — pale,  tear-stained,  but  with  the  old  luminous  inno- 
cence. And,  after  all,  he  thought,  there  had  come  good 
out  of  the  evil. 

"The  Providence  of  God  is  over  us  all,"  he  thought  with 
gratitude,  as  he  rose  stiffly  to  seek  that  feather  bed,  where 
there  was  small  likelihood  of  sleep  that  night  for  him. 

He  heard  the  call  of  a  coach  horn  beyond,  in  the  night, 
and  immediately  afterwards  the  mighty  clatter  of  the  four 
sets  of  hoofs  and  the  rush  of  the  wheels  in  the  streets. 
He  went  to  his  window,  opened  it,  and  looked  out. 

The  up  coach  from  Dover,  pausing  only  to  drop  a  single 
passenger — stay,  to  take  up  a  passenger,  too !  Sir  Ever- 

100 


STORM  WITHIN  AND  WITHOUT 

ard  recognized  the  swing  of  the  shoulders,  the  tall,  alert 
frame,  the  indefinable  swagger,  even  though  muffled  in  the 
raany-caped  traveling  coat. 

Young  Bellairs  was  not  going  to  Paris  with  a  fair  com- 
panion ! 

"Thank  Heaven!"  said  Sir  Everard. 


CHAPTER  V 

IN  WHICH  MISS  PAMELA  POUNCE  DEMONSTEATES  THE  VALUE 
OF  VIRTUE  TO  HER  FAMILY  AND  HER  FRIENDS 

"  A  ND  I'm  sure,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Pounce,  the  tears 

-tV  welling  in  her  eyes  as  she  gazed  lovingly  at  her 
eldest  daughter,  "  'tis  the  golden  girl  you've  been  to  us !" 

"Ah,  you  wait,  mother!"  cried  Pamela.  "Just  you 
wait!  If  I  can't  finish  paying  off  that  there  mortgage 
with  the  new  spring  fashions,  call  me  Tabbishaw,  that's 
all  I  say." 

The  force  of  condemnation  for  vulgar  stupidity  could 
go  no  further  on  Miss  Pounce's  lips. 

Farmer  Pounce,  seated  before  the  kitchen  fire,  turned 
his  big,  grizzled  head  to  cast  a  glance  no  less  affectionate 
than  his  wife's  upon  the  good  daughter. 

"This  time  last  year,"  he  said;  then,  in  a  ruminating 
voice,  "Ah,  'twas  a  black  lookout!  As  much  as  I  could 
do  to  squeeze  the  interest  on  the  borrowed  money  and  the 
expenses  of  the  new  loan.  And  Sir  Jasper,  with  his  eye 
on  the  farm  this  long  while,  turning  the  screw  on  me,  he 
and  lawyer  Grinder  between  them.  Cruel  hard  terms  they 
made  me,  cruel  hard;  but  there,  'twasn't  as  if  I  didn't 
know  their  little  game.  Aye,  aye,  they  were  but  waiting, 
the  both  of  them,  to  sell  me  up  and  get  me  out  of  it  all ; 
the  land  my  father's  father's  father  called  his  own." 

Mrs.  Pounce  wept  at  the  mere  recollection.  Where 
would  they  have  been,  they  and  the  little  ones,  but  for  the 
golden  girl? 

"Pamela  winked  away  a  bright  tear  of  sympathy.  Every- 

102 


THE  VALUE  OF  VIRTUE 


thing  about  this  girl  was  bright:  the  spring  of  her  chest- 
nut hair  from  her  white  forehead,  which  itself  shone  as 
with  a  kind  of  luminosity,  the  glance  of  her  full,  shrewd 
eyes,  the  smile  that  curved  her  lips.  Oh,  above  all,  it  was 
Pamela's  smile  that  was  bright  with  the  gayety  and  joy 
of  life! 

"Pish,  you  dears,"  she  said  now,  and  covered  up  her 
emotion  with  just  one  of  those  flashing  smiles.  "Don't 
be  making  too  much  of  it.  All  those  months  I  wasted  at 
old  Tabbishaw's  didn't  I  know  in  my  spirit  it  would  all 
come  right?  Wasn't  I  sure  the  whole  time" — she  played 
with  her  capable  fingers  in  the  air — "that  there  was  a 
fortune  in  these  hands  once  I  could  get  them  proper  to 
work.  And  I  tell  you  now,  without  vanity — oh,  I  ain't 
got  a  mite  of  vanity  about  it,  'tis  my  gift,  the  way  pigs 
is  father's  gift — give  me  a  yard  of  ribbon,  a  feather,  and 
a  bit  of  straw,  and  I'll  turn  you  out  two  guineas  before 
you  can  say  knife." 

"Dear  to  be  sure,"  mused  Mrs.  Pounce,  forgetting  to 
knead  her  scones.  "And  think  of  the  Christmas  dinner 
we've  had.  A  turkey  fit  for  the  Queen's  table,  though  I 
says  it  as  shouldn't.  And  me  having  to  sell  every  one  of 
my  lovely  birds  last  year  and  keep  father  on  the  salt  beef, 
Christmas  and  all !  And  there's  Susie,  such  a  picture,  in 
the  bonnet  you  trimmed  for  her,  at  morning  service,  that 
I'd  never  be  surprised  if  Farmer  Fleet's  son  were  to  come 
to  the  scratch  to-night  at  Sir  Jasper's  barn  dance,  I 
shouldn't  indeed." 

"I've  got  a  white  cambric,  mother,  and  blue  ribbons 
ready  for  her,"  said  Pamela,  smacking  her  lips  with  gusto, 
"and  a  Shepherdess  Dunstable.  If  that  don't  settle  him! 
'Tis  the  very  thing,  so  simple  and  fresh,  a  sort  of  daisy 
gown,  father  and  mother,  that'll  start  Master  Tom  think- 

103 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


ing  o'  dairies  and  the  clean  linen  and  the  white  flour  in  the 
bin:  and,  'What  a  modest,  nice  girl,'  he'll  say.  'The  very 
wife  for  a  farmer.  No  nonsense  of  cheap  finery.  Only 
what  a  maid  could  buy  for  herself  and  stitch  at  home,'  he'll 
think,  poor  innocent,  and  it's  the  model  for  the  French 
Queen  at  Trianon,  where  she  plays  at  milkmaid,  you'd 
never  believe!" 

"Mercy  on  us!"  said  Mrs.  Pounce  with  an  uncompre- 
hending stare.  "Frenchies  be  queer  people,  to  be  sure." 

"And  Jenny  and  Betty  shall  wear  the  sprigged  muslin," 
pursued  Pamela.  "And  my  little  pet,  Peg,  the  robe  coat 
I  made  her  out  of  the  odds  and  ends  Madame  Mirabel  gave 
me  from  her  ladies'  counter." 

"And  what  will  you  wear  yourself,  my  dear  ?"  asked  the 
mother,  cutting  her  rolled-out  paste  into  neat  rounds. 

"Is  it  me,  mother?"  Pamela  hesitated.  Then:  "I  don't 
mean  to  go,"  says  she. 

"Not  mean  to  go?"  screamed  the  farmer's  wife,  blank 
disappointment  writing  itself  on  her  good-humored  coun- 
tenance. 

"Tut !  tut!"  cried  the  farmer,  and  wheeled  himself  round 
in  his  chair. 

The  London  girl  colored,  and  a  shadow  came  over  her 
face. 

"Some  one's  got  to  stay  at  home  and  look  after  little 
Tom,"  said  she  stoutly,  "and  him  but  ten  months  old,  the 
poor  fond  lamb!" 

She  glanced  at  the  wooden  cradle  to  the  left  of  the 
hearth,  where,  under  a  patchwork  quilt,  a  chubby  minia- 
ture reproduction  of  the  farmer  was  lying,  with  fists 
clenched  in  a  determined  fashion,  as  if  he  defied  any  one 
io  rob  him  of  his  repose. 

"Why,  I  never  heard  such  nonsense!"  Mrs.  Pounce 

104 


THE  VALUE  OF  VIRTUE 


gathered  the  cuttings  of  paste  together  and  dabbed  them 
into  a  single  lump  with  an  irritable  hand.  "And  who's 
minded  little  Tom,  do  ye  think,  all  the  hours,  miss,  that 
I've  got  to  be  butter  making,  plucking  of  geese,  and  cut- 
ting up  pig  for  the  salting?  Who  but  old  Nance,  my 
love,  who  looked  after  yourself  when  you  was  no  bigger 
than  the  little  'un  there?" 

"She's  getting  very  old,"  said  Pamela.  "I  caught  her 
nodding  yesterday  with  the  Blessing  on  her  lap,  and  he  as 
near  as  anything  into  the  cinders.  Besides,  my  mind's 
made  up,  and  there's  no  use  your  trying  to  unmake  it. 
I've  my  reasons,  and  that's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"Why,  Pam,  why,  lovey" — Mrs.  Pounce  had  a 
grimace  like  an  infant  about  to  cry — "you  fair  break 
my  heart.  Why,  'twas  all  my  thought,  these  days  and 
days,  how  I'd  let  neighbors  see  what  a  beauty  my  dear, 
good  London  da'ter  be,  and  as  elegant  as  any  lady !" 

"If  you've  got  a  reason  for  disappointing  your  mother, 
out  with  it,  girl,  so  it's  a  good  'un,"  said  Farmer  Pounce 
with  some  sternness. 

Pamela  tossed  her  head.  She  was  never  one  for  making 
mysteries. 

"Well,  father  and  mother,  if  you  must  know  so  par- 
ticular, wasn't  that  Sir  Jasper  Standish  as  was  driving 
the  high  curricle  away  from  Pitfold  Church  this  morning? 
The  stout  gentleman  with  the  kind  of  red  eye,  and  it 
rolling?" 

"Aye,  aye,"  grumbled  the  farmer,  "the  very  man,  my 
dear,  and  a  hard  gentleman  he  be.  And  queer  tales  there 
are  about  him.  'Tis  a  good  thing  he  comes  to  Standish 
Hall  but  seldom.  Aye,  aye,  'twas  him  driving  them  bloods 
in  the  curricle.  And  a  mort  of  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen 
in  the  barouche.  They'll  be  staying  Christ-nas,  I  reckon." 

105 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


"Aye,"  corroborated  Mrs.  Pounce.  "A  twenty-pound 
jar  of  my  best  salt,  and  six  turkeys,  no  less,  not  to  speak 
of  the  geese — aye,  and  a  ham,  cured  in  that  very  chamber 
in  the  chimbley,  child.  But,  dear,  to  be  sure,  was  you  set 
against  meeting  Sir  Jasper  just  for  the  seeing  of  him  step 
into  his  curricle?" 

"You  didn't  happen  to  note,  mother,  the  gentleman  who 
stepped  in  after  him?" 

Farmer  Pounce  and  his  wife  exchanged  a  scared  look, 
and  then  by  common  consent  transferred  it  to  their  daugh- 
ter. There  was  silence,  broken  only  by  the  cheerful  song 
of  the  kettle  on  its  chain  over  the  embers,  and  the  stertor- 
ous breathing  of  the  infant  farmer  in  the  cot. 

Then,  with  a  catch  in  her  breath : 

"Well,  child?"  ventured  Mother  Pounce. 

Once  more  Pamela  tossed  her  head.  She  was  seated  at 
a  corner  of  the  kitchen  table,  needle,  scissors,  and  workbox 
at  her  elbow,  and  she  turned  and  twisted  the  lilac  satin 
rosette  in  her  hand. 

"Well,"  she  said  at  last,  without  looking  up.  "I  don't 
happen  to  want  to  meet  him,  that's  all." 

"How  my  dear?"  Mrs.  Pounce  shot  a  frightened  glance 
at  her  husband's  grim  face,  and  another  at  her  daughter's 
bright,  bent  head. 

"Ain't  the  young  gentleman  a  friend  of  yours?"  she 
asked  faintly. 

Pamela  snapped  her  thread. 

"You  do  want  to  know  a  lot,  don't  you,  mother,  dear? 
But  there!  There's  no  reason  why  I  shouldn't  tell  you. 
I've  done  nothing  to  be  ashamed  of.  That  young  gentle- 
man has  the  good  taste  to  admire  me  a  mortal  lot,  but  he 
ain't  got  the  good  taste,  in  my  opinion,  to  admire  me  the 
right  way.  He  came  after  me  to  Canterbury,  knowing  I 

106 


THE  VALUE  OF  VIRTUE 


was  due  here  for  mj  Christmas  holiday,  and  I  sent  him 
packing,  and,  thinks  I,  'tis  done  now,  once  for  all,  and 
we'll  be  the  best  of  friends  at  a  distance.  And  you  could 
have  knocked  me  down  with  a  feather  when  I  see  his  black 
eye  roaming  round  the  church  this  morning.  Encourage 
him  by  going  with  you  to-night?  That  would  never  do! 
Pamela,  my  girl,  says  I  to  myself,  and " 

"What  dost  mean  by  the  right  way,  daughter?"  inter- 
rupted the  farmer,  who  had  been  ruminating  her  words, 
and  not  found  them  to  his  liking.  The  veins  of  his  fore- 
head were  swelled ;  the  hand  that  gripped  the  wooden  arm 
of  his  chair  shook. 

"I  mean  the  wrong  way.  Now,  father,  don't  you  be 
a-working  yourself  up.  I  can  look  after  myself,  and  ain't 
that  just  what  I'm  doing?  Mother,  I  vow  your  cap  will 
beat  the  one  I  made  for  the  Duchess  of  Queensberry  all  to 
nothing.  Now,  won't  the  children  be  pleased  when  they 
find  those  cakes  all  piping  hot,  mother?  They  ought  to 
be  in  soon  now — back  from  Rector's.  I'd  like  to  try  the 
little  gown  on  my  poppet  ere  you  put  her  to  rest  to-night." 

It  was  the  first  party  Sir  Jasper  had  invited  to  Standish 
Hall  since  the  death  of  his  wife,  and  lavish  as  was  his 
hospitality,  the  loss  of  that  incomparable  woman  had 
never  been  more  painfully  felt.  A  widower  forlornness  was 
over  everything.  Dusty,  flowerless,  unkempt  the  parlors ; 
discomfort,  an  open  negligence  of  refined  detail,  the  lack 
of  the  controlling  hand,  in  fine,  was  sensible  to  all  his 
guests. 

The  Christmas  dinner  was  over,  and  the  ladies  had  re- 
tired. If  you  had  cared  to  have  examined  the  bottles  in 
rows  on  the  floor,  or  the  cut-glass  decanters  on  the  table, 
you  would  have  found  that  the  company  had  drawn  con- 

107 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


siderably  on  Sir  Jasper's  generous  cellar,  and  had  not 
scrupled  to  mix  very  freely. 

Sir  Jasper  and  his  youngest  male  guest,  Mr.  Jocelyn 
Bellairs  were  at  the  height  of  an  argument,  egged  on  and 
applauded  by  good-natured  Squire  Upshott,  and  that 
saturnine  rake,  Sir  James  Devlin,  while  Lawyer  Grinder, 
from  Canterbury,  leaned  back,  smiling  grimly,  his  gray 
fingers  round  his  glass,  his  gray  eyes  acute,  his  large  ears 
pricked  outside  his  scratch  wig  for  any  business  advantage 
the  holiday  dissipation  should  lay  open. 

"Pshaw !  My  dear  fellow,  the  girl's  been  three  years  in 
Paris,  I  tell  you !  You'll  not  have  me  believe  she's  better 
than  her  neighbors.  Why,  don't  I  know  all  about  her? 
Isn't  her  father  squatting  on  a  bit  of  land  that  juts  into 
my  ring  fence — 'pon  honor,  like  a  fly  in  a  man's  honey — 
eh,  Grinder?  As  handsome  a  slut  as  I  ever  laid  eyes  on, 
if  that's  the  bouncer  I  saw  at  church  this  morning.  If 
you're  after  her,  lad,  go  in  and  win !  If  not,  step  aside, 
and  make  room  for  your  elders !" 

Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs  took  a  draught  from  the  beaker  in 
front  of  him,  then  cast  rather  a  wild  glance  at  his  host. 

"You!"  cried  he.  "You  step  in  with  Pamela  Pounce! 
My  dear  Sir  Jasper,  I  do  not  intend  to  be  uncivil,  but 
the  idea  is  too  droll !" 

"How  now?  Is  Miss  so  difficult?  You  know  'tis  but  a 
milliner?" 

"Aye,  I  know  more  of  her,  I  dare  swear,  than  you  do. 
Difficult?  Well,  Sir  Jasper,  you  or  any  one  may  try  their 
chances  so  far  as  I  am  concerned — I  would  not  give 
that  for  them," — snapping  his  fingers.  "Pure  waste! 
When  I  tell  you  that  I  have  failed " 

The  unconscious  cockscombry  was  greeted  with  a  shout 
of  laughter. 

108 


THE  VALUE  OF  VIRTUE 


"Hark  to  him !"  cried  old  Upshott. 

"Odds  life!"  jeered  Sir  Jasper.  "You  stimulate  me! 
So  fastidious?" 

"Nay!"  Young  Bellairs  flung  a  fine  black  eye  about 
him.  "So  virtuous,"  said  he,  his  voice  sinking  quite  an 
octave  deeper  than  its  usual  gay  note. 

There  was  another  laugh ;  and  then  a  silence ;  and  then 
Sir  Jasper  repeated  drawling: 

"So  virtuous?  It  all  depends  what  the  virtue  is — eh, 
gentlemen  ?  There's  prudence,  now — they  tell  me  'tis  much 
practiced  of  the  French." 

"What  am  I  to  take  out  of  that,  sir?" 

"Why,  lad,  you  may  take  it  that  Miss  knows  her  value. 
With  all  due  deference  to  your  good  looks,  you  might  fail 
where  one  like  myself  might  succeed." 

"Meaning,  Sir  Jasper ?" 

"Meaning,  Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs,  that  little  milliners, 
especially  if  they've  been  in  Paris,  may  have  learned  to 
have  an  eye  to  the  main  chance." 

There  was  again  much  and  loud  merriment.  The  four 
other  gentlemen  looked  at  the  one  handsome  youth  of  the 
party  as  if  it  were  agreeable  to  see  his  comb  cut. 

"Gad,  if  there's  any  betting  going  on  it,  I'll  back  Jas- 
per," said  Sir  James  Devlin,  with  that  cold  smile  of  his 
which  seemed  to  blight  where  it  rested.  "But  the  mis- 
chief's in  it,  who'd  take  up  the  wager  at  such  odds? 
What?  Sweet,  penniless  Romeo  in  the  one  scale,  and  rich 
Sir  Paris  in  the  other,  and  Juliet  a  French  milliner? 
Pshaw !" 

"Why  then,  Sir  James,"  cried  Mr.  Bellairs.  "Romeo  is 
none  so  penniless  but  that  he  can  back  his  own  word. 
I'm  ready  to  wager  Sir  Jasper  this  moment  as  much  as 
he  cares  to  risk  that  Miss  Pamela  Pounce — who  is  not 

109 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


French,  sir,  but  good  Kentish  stock — will  send  him  to  the 
rightabout,  as  she  has  sent — aye,  though  'tis  I  say  it — a 
better  man!  That  all  his  moneybags  will  not  weigh  this 
nutshell" — he  crushed  one  under  his  clenched  hand  on  the 
mahogany  as  he  spoke — "against  her  virtue." 

Sir  Jasper  grew  red  in  the  face ;  his  eyes  protruded,  his 
veins  swelled. 

"Why,  done  with  you,  you  poor  innocent " 

"Stay,  stay,"  intervened  Sir  James.  "If  there's  to  be 
betting,  let's  do  it  proper,  in  Heaven's  name!  In  prvmo, 
what  is  the  wager  to  be?" 

Sir  Jasper  and  Bellairs  spoke  together: 

"That  pretty  Pounce  will  pounce  fast  enough  if  it  is 
made  worth  her  while,"  cried  Sir  Jasper,  with  a  guffaw. 

And: 

"That  Sir  Jasper  has  about  as  much  chance  of  Miss 
Pamela  Pounce's  favor  as  of  the  Princess  Royal's,"  as- 
serted Bellairs. 

"Now,  tut,  tut !"  Sir  James  Devlin  shook  his  head  and 
clacked  his  tongue.  "If  I'm  to  draw  up  your  wager, 
gentlemen,  you  must,  if  you  please,  be  a  trifle  less  slipshod. 
You  can't  bet  on  a  pun,  Sir  Jasper,  nor  you  on  a  high- 
falutin'  comparison  to  Royal  ladies,  young  man.  You've 
got  to  bet  on  facts,  my  lads.  Say,  that  a  week  from 
to-day  we  find  the  young  person  agreeably  installed  under 
the  protection  of  our  host  here,  in — better  say  London — 
eh,  Jasper?  Might  be  a  bit  awkward,  too  close  to  Miss's 
family,  what?  Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs  here  to  be  given 
ocular  proof  that  circumstances  alter  cases.  Let  your 
charmer  ask  him  to  tea  in  her  new  abode  this  day  week." 

"Carry  her  off,  carry  her  off,  good  old  style.  Tallyho !" 
cried  the  tipsy  squire. 

"Capital  idea !"  Mr.  Grinder  shook  with  amusement. 

110 


THE  VALUE  OF  VIRTUE 


"Run  away  with  her !  .  Carry  her  off,  and  keep  her  from 
the  hats  and  feathers,  Sir  Jasper,  and  I'll  see  that  you 
get  Little  Pitfold  at  long  last.  We'll  foreclose  for  the 
rest  of  the  mortgage.  Zounds,  we  will!  Drat  that  girl! 
She's  been  paying  off  at  an  uncommon  quick  rate.  Took 
my  breath  away,  she  did.  We  had  to  give  old  Pounce  a 
couple  of  years  for  the  look  of  the  thing,  you  remember — 
never  dreaming — But  there!  Time  will  be  up  next  Lady 
Day,  and" — he  broke  into  dry  chuckling — "if  you  carry 
off  the  girl  you'll  win  your  wager  and  get  your  land  into 
the  bargain.  Kill  two  birds  with  one  stone." 

Jocelyn  Bellairs  lay  back  in  his  seat  with  arms  folded, 
and  a  scornful  smile  on  his  countenance.  He  did  not  care 
what  conditions  were  imposed,  and  the  higher  the  stake 
the  better  for  him.  He  was  so  sure  of  the  result. 

Sir  James  Devlin  had  drawn  out  his  tablets. 

"The  wager's  plain  enough  now,"  quoth  he.  "Sir  Jasper 
Standish  wagers  Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs  that  the  girl,  Pamela 
Pounce,  will  give  him  a  dish  of  tea  this  day  week,  at  an 
address  hereafter  to  be  determined,  the  said  Pamela 
Pounce  being  then  established  under  the  protection  of  the 
said  Jasper  Standish.  What  are  the  stakes?" 

"Oh,  make  it  worth  while!"  eagerly  cried  Bellairs. 

Devlin  gave  him  a  keen  side  glance. 

"  'Tis  scarce  usual  to  make  the  stakes  higher  than  you 
can  meet,  Mr.  Bellairs." 

The  young  man  flushed  darkly.  But  before  he  could 
reply: 

"Odds  my  life,"  exclaimed  Sir  Jasper,  "let's  make  it 
worth  while !  What  say  you  to  a  thousand  guineas  ?" 

"Done!"  cried  Jocelyn  eagerly.  Then  he  added:  "I'd 
like  to  make  a  stipulation.  If  Sir  Jasper  loses,  let  him 

111 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


remit  the  rest  of  that  mortgage  first,  whatever  it  is.     I'll 
be  content  with  the  residue." 

"  'Pon  my  word,  sir,  that's  a  strange  proposal,"  said 
Sir  Jasper,  staring  with  an  air  which  gave  him  an  odd 
resemblance  to  an  incensed  bull. 

"You  can  cry  off  the  whole  bet,  if  you're  afraid  of  it," 
taunted  his  guest. 

"Foh !"  said  Mr.  Grinder.  "  'Tis  but  a  matter  of  a 
hundred  and  eighty-nine  pounds,  when  all  is  said  and  done. 
Never  niggle  at  that,  Sir  Jasper.  Go  in  and  win !  'Pon 
me  soul!"  cried  the  old  sinner,  rubbing  his  hands,  "I'd 
sleep  better  in  my  grave  if  I  thought  the  Standish  estate 
had  got  Pitfold  at  last." 

"The  stakes  to  be  a  thousand  guineas,"  murmured  Dev- 
lin, as  he  wrote,  "out  of  which  Sir  Jasper  remits  the  rest 
of  Farmer  Pounce's  mortgage,  one  hundred  and  eighty- 
nine  pounds,  and  hands  the  residue  eight  hundred  and 
eleven,  plus  the  shillings  for  the  guineas,  to  Mr.  Jocelyn 
Bellairs.  Any  backers?  Fifty  guineas  on  Jasper.  Who'll 
take  me?" 

Squire  Upshott  was  too  far  gone,  and  Lawyer  Grinder 
shook  his  head,  so  Sir  James  had  to  content  himself  with 
jotting  down,  "No  backers." 

"Why,  zounds!"  exclaimed  Sir  Jasper,  after  he  had 
ruminated  a  while,  "it  seems  that  more  hangs  on  this 
betting  to-night  than  the  virtue  of  Miss,  after  all.  What? 
The  farm  that  we  Standishes  from  grandfather  down  have 
vainly  been  trying  to  get  hold  of.  That's  a  fine  idea  of 
yours,  Grinder,  odds  my  life,  it  is !  A  thousand  guineas 
besides,  and  as  fine  an  armful — hark  ye,  Devlin,  did  ye 
notice  her  this  morning  in  church,  as  neat  as  a  chestnut 
filly?  Foh!  There's  blood  in  her,  sir,  there's  blood  in 

her,  or  I'm  no  judge " 

112 


THE  VALUE  OF  VIRTUE 


He  broke  off.  'Twas  a  dashed  superior  smile  on  young 
puppy's  face.  What  made  the  fellow  so  cocksure,  in  the 
name  of  all  that  was  sly?  A  sudden  thought  struck  him. 

"Look  you  here,  Master  Bellairs,"  cried  he,  with  a 
muffled  roar.  "No  collusion !  No  putting  your  head  and 
Miss  Pounce's  together  to  do  me  out  of  a  thousand 
guineas!  Eh,  Devlin?  Eh,  Grinder?  No  blanked  tricks !" 

Jocelyn's  nostrils  quivered  scornfully. 

"I  give  you  my  word  of  honor,  Sir  Jasper,"  said  he, 
"to  have  no  communication  in  private  with  the  young  lady 
till  your  week  is  out." 

"Come,  come !"  said  Sir  James.  "Split  me,  Jasper,  we're 
all  gentlemen  here !" 

The  smile  on  the  face  of  Mr.  Bellairs  became  accentu- 
ated. 

"I'm  ready  to  give  Sir  Jasper  any  guaranty,"  said  he. 

"Deuce  take  him !  He's  like  a  fellow  with  a  card  up  his 
sleeve !"  thought  Sir  Jasper.  "Word  of  honor,  or  no  word 
of  honor,  I'll  make  Devlin  keep  watch  for  me." 

When  they  went  upstairs  to  the  splendid,  neglected 
drawing-room  where  Lady  Barbara  Flyte,  her  niece,  Miss 
Lesbia  Ogle,  and  Mrs.  Colonel  Dashwood  were  waiting  to 
pour  out  tea  for  them,  Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs  showed  him- 
self in  high  spirits. 

"Ah,  Pamela,  my  girl !"  cried  he  to  himself,  "that  was 
an  angry  look  you  cast  at  me  across  your  prayer  book 
this  morning,  a  monstrous,  unpeaceful  kind  of  look  to  a 
man  of  good  will;  but  if  this  day's  work  has  not  wiped 

out  old  scores A  'filly,'  he  called  you,  aye,  you'll 

come  over  the  fence  as  clean  as  a  bird.  I've  no  fear  of  you, 
my  splendid  girl,  and  you'll  be  kinder  to  me,  I  dare  swear, 
when  next  we  meet;  but  that  won't  be  this  day  week,  at 
any  lodging  paid  for  by  Sir  Jasper." 

113 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


"Why,  la,  Sir  Jasper,  what  a  merry  tune !"  And  "Oh, 
Sir  Jasper,  what  a  strange,  pretty  place!"  And,  "Why, 
Sir  Jasper,  'tis  the  most  Christmas  sight  I've  ever  beheld !" 
And  "Pray,  pray,  Sir  Jasper,  don't  ask  me  to  trip  it  with 
your  country  bumpkins,  for  I  vow  and  protest  I  could 
never  pick  up  those  vulgar  steps !"  And  "Oh,  Aunt  Bab, 
do  but  look  at  the  pink  roses  in  Goody's  cap!"  And 
"Oh,  Miss  Ogle,  you're  nowhere,  I  declare,  beside,  Miss, 
in  feathers  yonder  plucked  from  the  old  turkey  before 
mother  put  it  in  the  pot."  "You're  too  droll,  Mrs. 
Dashwood!"  "Do  you  think,  Sir  Jasper,  the  buck  in  the 
top-boots  would  have  me  for  his  partner  if  I  simpered 
ever  so  sweet  upon  him?" 

Sir  Jasper,  moving  in  this  fire  of  chatter,  a  lady  on  each 
arm  and  Miss  Lesbia  Ogle  hanging  on  his  coat-tails,  ap- 
peared at  the  barn-door  when  he  believed  his  guests  to 
be  assembled.  The  merry  tune  to  which  Lady  Bab  had 
alluded  fell  silent  at  his  approach;  there  were  curtsies 
and  dips  and  bows  on  every  side,  while  the  three  fiddlers 
mopped  their  streaming  faces  and,  rising  as  one  man  from 
the  wooden  bench  on  which  they  had  been  seated  in  a  row, 
duly  ducked  their  shock  heads  to  their  patron. 

Sir  Jasper  gave  condescending  smiles  and  short,  indif- 
ferent nods  right  and  left,  the  while  his  eyes  roamed,  seek- 
ing, this  way  and  that.  Here  was  old  Mother  Pounce, 
right  enough,  as  large  as  one  of  her  own  feather  beds,  in 
a  lace  cap,  if  you  please,  mighty  genteel,  with  lavender 
knots.  And  Farmer  Pounce  in  his  red  waistcoat ;  confound 
the  fellow,  with  his  air  of  independence!  Aye,  was  there 
not  a  sort  of  triumph  about  him?  Don't  cry  till  you're 
out  of  the  wood,  Mr.  Yeoman!  And,  split  him,  what  a 
row  of  young  Pounces — a  fine  healthy  litter!  And,  'pon 
honor,  a  monstrous  pretty  little  chit  in  white  muslin  with 

114 


THE  VALUE  OF  VIRTUE 


a  straw  hat !  Pshaw !  He  had  no  time  to  waste  on  silly 
seventeen.  Where  was  their  agreeable  bone  of  contention ; 
where  was  the  handsome  Pamela? 

"How,  now,  yeoman,  where  is  your  elder  daughter?" 

"At  home,  Sir  Jasper,"  answered  the  father,  vith  the 
brevity  that  declines  discussion. 

"Sure,  Sir  Jasper,"  put  in  Mrs.  Pounce,  conciliatingly, 
"my  daughter  was  vastly  obleeged,  but  she  was  a  trifle 
fatigued  this  evening." 

"She  would  stay  and  look  after  our  Tom,"  piped  Susie. 

"She  preferred  not  to  come,  sir,"  said  Yeoman  Pounce, 
frowning. 

Sir  Jasper's  brow  had  likewise  gathered  thunderclouds. 
His  eyes  rolled  inward.  One  excuse  contradicted  another; 
the  farmer's  insolence  voiced  the  truth.  And  Master 
Jocelyn  Bellairs,  who  had  not  accompanied  his  host  to 
the  dance,  because  forsooth,  it  might  be  difficult  for  him 
to  keep  his  honorable  pledge — Master  Jocelyn  Bellairs, 
who  had  announced  his  intention  of  taking  a  pleasure  stroll 
this  freezing  Christmas  night — Master  Jocelyn  Bellairs, 
whose  very  presence  at  Standish  Hall  demanded  explana- 
tion, who  was  practically  a  self-invited  visitor,  where  was 
he?  Pshaw,  did  they  take  him  for  a  fool?  Was  he  to 
be  mocked  in  his  own  house  and  jockeyed  by  his  own  guest? 
Zounds!  The  whole  plot  was  clear  in  a  minute.  A  plot 
it  was;  no  wonder  Mr.  Bellairs  had  that  insufferable  air 
of  certainty.  He  and  his  ladylove  would  soon  be  laughing 
over  the  thought  of  how  they  had  swindled  him  of  a 
thousand  guineas.  And  what  a  spending  time  they  would 
have  together! 

If  the  revelation  came  swift  as  lightning  to  Sir  Jasper, 
no  less  swiftly  did  he  make  up  his  mind  for  action. 

It  was  a  three-mile  walk  to  Pitfold  Farm.     He  would 

115 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


have  out  his  curricle,  and  his  bloods  and  be  beforehand 
with  Bellairs. 

Some  ten  minutes  later  he  was  bowling  along  the  frozen 
road  at  the  highest  speed  of  his  roughed  horses,  an, 
astounded  groom  beside  him.  Purpose  was  setting  in  his 
mind  as  hard  as  the  ice  in  the  ditches.  There  was  no  time 
like  the  present.  He  had  a  slippery  pair  of  young  rascals 
to  deal  with.  If  he  was  to  win  his  wager  he  must  carry  off 
the  girl  this  very  night. 

He  laid  his  plans  with  a  wiliness  which  is  not  infre- 
quently a  characteristic  of  gross  natures.  Conscious  in 
himself  of  a  fine  capacity  for  evil,  such  as  he  will  be  sus- 
picious of  every  one  and  everything,  look  for  treachery 
from  his  most  trusted  friend,  and  infidelity  in  the  wife  of 
his  bosom. 

He  dismounted  at  the  farmyard  gate,  and  bade  Job 
Stallion,  the  groom,  drive  in  alone  and  announce  that  Sir 
Jasper  Standish  had  sent  the  curricle  for  Miss  Pounce,  as 
it  was  her  father  and  mother's  pleasure  she  should  come 
to  the  dance. 

The  ruse  succeeded  with  a  facility  beyond  his  expecta- 
tions. Pamela  had  been  finding  the  lonely  evening  discon- 
solate enough.  Baby  Tom  slept,  while  old  Nance  dis- 
played uncommon  wakefulness.  The  time  was  heavy  on 
Pamela's  hands,  and  to  while  it  away  she  had  had  the 
happy  thought  of  trying  on  the  pretty  garments  which 
she  had  prepared  before  Mr.  Bellairs'  appearance  in 
church  had  made  a  call  upon  her  prudence. 

Now  the  reaction  which  so  often  follows  self-sacrifice 
had  set  in.  She  was  beginning  to  call  herself  a  fool,  and 
to  regret  her  excessive  discretion.  Thus,  when  old  Nance 
labored,  panting,  to  the  attic  chamber,  and  supplemented 
Job's  message  with:  "You'd  never  think  of  saying  nay  now, 

116 


THE  VALUE  OF  VIRTUE 


Pam,  my  dear.  Ain't  it  Providence  you  should  just  have 
been  fitting  on?  And,  oh,  to  be  sure,  was  there  ever  so 
pure  lovely  a  gown?  You'll  be  the  belle  o'  the  ball,  my 
dearie,  that  you  will,  and  easy !" 

Pamela  never  hesitated  at  all.  She  caught  her  traveling 
cloak  off  the  peg,  and  lifted  her  best  feathered  hat  from 
its  bandbox — how  could  a  milliner  resist  such  an  oppor- 
tunity?— pinned  it  on  her  auburn  curls,  cast  herself  head- 
long down  the  stairs,  out  through  the  farm  kitchen  like  a 
whirlwind,  and  laughing,  swung  herself  up  on  the  curricle 
beside  the  grinning  Job. 

She  was  rather  taken  aback  when  this  latter  halted  out- 
side the  farmyard  gate,  and  a  portly  figure  appeared  from 
the  shadow  of  the  oak  tree*  Hat  in  hand,  Sir  Jasper 
pleasantly  saluted  her. 

"Why,  Miss  Pounce,  this  is  capital.  Your  father  and 
mother  vowed  you'd  never  come,  but  I  said  I  was  sure  so 
good  a  daughter  would  be  obedient  to  her  parents.  Never- 
theless"— he  was  climbing  up  beside  her  in  the  high  seat, 
while  Job  shut  the  gates  behind  them — "I  was  ready,  you 
see,  to  exercise  a  neighbor's  persuasion,  should  you  persist 
in  your  cruel  resolve.  The  ball  would  be  nothing  without 
you,  'pon  honor.  There  are  half  a  dozen  fine  young  bucks 
with  faces  as  long  as  my  whip  handle  already." 

By  this  time  Job  was  up  on  the  back  seat,  and  his  master 
started  the  chestnuts  at  a  pace  that  only  his  own  pride 
and  temper  would  have  urged  upon  them. 

"Oh,  la!"  cried  Miss  Pounce,  and  made  a  clutch  for 
her  hat.  She  drew  the  pure,  keen  air  into  her  lungs,  felt 
the  wind  of  their  passage  blow  with  the  most  delicious 
invigoration  against  her  face.  "Oh,  la!  Was  there  ever 
anything  so  beautiful  ?  'Tis  the  first  time  I  have  driven  by 
moonlight.  'Tis  the  first  time  I  have  ever  driven  in  a 

117 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


curricle!     Oh,  'tis  like  flying,  Sir  Jasper!     Oh,  what  a 
night !    I  vow  I  feel  like  a  bird !" 

The  moonlight  flooded  the  road,  hedges  and  trees 
sparkled  and  shimmered  white  as  diamonds.  The  sky  was 
one  mighty  sapphire,  darkly,  wonderfully  blue.  The  stars, 
fainting  in  the  moonlight,  looked  like  the  thousand  facets 
of  a  jewel. 

"Oh,"  cried  Pamela  again,  "I'll  make  a  head  out  of  it 
for  the  opera,  I  will  indeed!  Sapphire  blue  ribbons  and 
frosted  silver  feathers.  'Tis  an  inspiration." 

This  gave  Sir  Jasper  his  opening. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "  'tis  a  monstrous  pity  such  a  mon- 
strous fine  girl  as  you  should  have  to  work  for  her  living. 
The  moment  I  set  eyes  on  you  this  morning,  said  I  to 
myself " 

Pamela  interrupted. 

"Keep  your  pity  and  your  compliments,  sir.  They're 
wasted  on  me." 

"Why,  how  now,  I  like  your  spirit.  I  vow,  my  dear, 
'tis  you  are  wasted  on  such  a  life." 

"What  if  I  like  my  work,  sir?" 

"You  were  born  to  wear  'em — the  fine  hats — not  to 
make  'em.  You  were  born  to  be  a  lady,  that's  what  I  said 
to  myself  the  moment  I  clapped  eyes  on  you  this  morning." 

"Foh !  I  know  'tis  gentlemen's  way  to  start  this  kind 
of  silly  talk  whenever  they  get  with  a  poor  girl,  but  I 
assure  you,  sir,  I've  no  relish  for  it.  And  as  for  my  being 
a  lady,  I've  seen  too  much  of  gentlefolk.  I  wouldn't  thank 
the  Lord  to  ha'  made  me  one." 

She  spoke  with  her  head  up  and  a  straight  back. 

'  'Tis  but  gentlemen's  way,"  she  repeated  to  herself ; 
"but  I'll  let  him  see  he'll  have  to  respect  me,  lady  or  no 
lady." 

118 


THE  VALUE  OF  VIRTUE 


She  gripped  the  rail  of  the  curricle,  not  to  give  herself 
courage — for  she  had  no  thought  there  was  anything  to 
fear — but  to  brace  herself  the  better  against  any  further 
presumption.  She  was  quite  unprepared,  therefore,  when 
he  turned  his  bloods  away  from  the  road  leading  to 
Standish  Hall,  and,  with  a  flourish  of  the  whip,  sent  them 
helter-skelter  up  the  hill  on  the  London  causeway. 

The  cry  she  gave  was  one  more  of  anger  than  of  fear. 
A  solitary  pedestrian,  coming  at  a  swinging  pace  along 
the  road  which  led  from  Sir  Jasper's  residence,  heard  it, 
and  beheld  the  curricle  as  it  topped  the  hill,  fantastically 
silhouetted  in  black  against  the  moonlit  sky.  He  gave  an 
answering  shout,  and  started  running.  But  he  had  as 
much  chance  of  overtaking  the  gig  as  if  it  had  been  a  bird 
on  the  flight.  He  gave  up,  panting,  after  a  yard  or  two, 
stamped  his  foot,  shook  his  fist  at  the  radiant  sky,  and 
started  running  again  in  the  opposite  direction. 

"Where  are  you  taking  me  to?" 

Sir  Jasper's  teeth  and  eyeballs  flashed  horribly  in  the 
silver  light  as  he  smiled  upon  Pamela. 

"You'll  be  uncommon  grateful  to  me  one  day,  my  pretty 
little  milliner." 

"Good  Heaven,  what  do  you  mean,  sir  ?" 

"I  dare  swear  you  ain't  so  far  from  being  grateful  now. 
Oh,  aye !  'Tis  the  regular  thing  to  set  up  a  hullabaloo, 
but  I'm  not  to  be  taken  in  by  any  tushery,  and  so  I  tell 
you !  You  may  scream  till  you're  blue,  there  ain't  a  soul 
on  the  roads  to  hear  you,  and  as  for  kicking,  'tain't  easy 
on  a  curricle,  so,  like  a  girl  of  sense,  let's  pretend  you've 
had  your  vapors,  and  you  and  I  will  have  a  glorious  time 
together.  Why,  who  was  talking  of  silver  feathers  ?  'Tis 
golden  chains  I'll  give  you,  my  splendid  child ;  aye,  and  a 
pearl  each  for  your  pretty  ears — I  can't  see  'em  under 

119 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


your  hat,  but  I  dare  swear  they're  pretty  like  the  rest — 
and  maybe  a  diamond  brooch  for  your  kerchief.  And  you 
shall  have  a  house  of  your  own  and  a  pair  of  fine  London 
maids  to  wait  on  you,  and  I'll  take  you  about,  my  dear, 
and  you  will  have  naught  to  do  in  the  world  but  enjoy 
yourself." 

She  listened  in  dead  silence  till  he  had  finished,  and  then 
without  condescending  to  reply  to  him,  turned  her  head 
over  her  shoulder,  and  hailed  the  groom. 

"Job  Stallion,  Job  Stallion,"  she  said,  "your  father  was 
reared  on  my  father's  land.  Will  you  see  a  Kentish  girl 
carried  away  to  perdition  against  her  will,  and  not  lift  a 
finger  to  save  her?" 

"Job  Stallion,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  snatching  a  pistol  from 
the  seat  beside  him,  "if  you  unfold  your  arms  you're  a 
dead  man." 

Then  Sir  Jasper  and  the  yeoman's  daughter  stared  into 
each  other's  eyes,  each  drawing  long,  fierce  breaths 
through  dilated  nostrils.  Suddenly  he  laughed  and 
dropped  the  pistol  back  into  its  holster.  Again  he  sent 
his  whip  circling.  The  horses  broke  into  a  canter  on  the 
downward  slope,  the  light-hung  vehicle  swaying  and  leap- 
ing behind  them.  The  very  intensity  of  their  speed  saved 
them  from  stumbling. 

At  length  Pamela  said  in  a  low  voice : 

"At  least  I  have  a  right  to  know  where  you  are  taking 
me." 

"Did  I  not  tell  you?    To  London." 

"You  do  not  think  I  am  so  simple  as  to  believe  you  can 
drive  to  London  with  these  horses  to-night?" 

"Why,  of  course  not.  We'll  stop  at  Ashford,  and  get 
a  chaise  and  four  of  the  best  posters  money  can  hire. 

120 


THE  VALUE  OF  VIRTUE 


We'll  be  in  London  to-night,  never  fear.  Hark,  there's 
nine  of  the  clock  striking  from  Catterford  Hill." 

He  pointed  with1  his  whip.  Pamela  saw  the  square  tower 
of  the  little  church  silver  and  black  against  the  sky.  A 
lump  rose  in  her  throat.  For  the  first  and  only  time  that 
night  a  burst  of  hysterical  weeping  threatened  to  over- 
whelm her. 

"I'm  lost,"  she  said  to  herself,  "if  I  don't  keep  brave. 
If  I  don't  keep  my  head,  I'm  lost." 

No  strong  soul  ever  cries  vainly  on  courage.  The  an- 
guish passed,  her  spirit  rose. 

"Sir  Jasper  Standish,"  said  she,  "why  are  you  running 
away  with  me?  Tell  me  that." 

"Won't  you  believe  I  want  to  make  a  lady  of  you?" 

"No." 

"Well,  then,  the  mere  sight  of  that  handsome  face  of 
yours  this  morning  has  made  me  mad  in  love  with  you. 
Will  you  believe  that?" 

"Neither  the  one  nor  the  other,  sir.  You  see,"  she  went 
on,  "I  am  not  kicking  nor  screaming,  I  am  in  your  power, 
and  I  can't  help  myself.  I  think  you'd  find  it  better  for 
yourself,  sir,  and  better  for  me,  if  you'd  tell  me  the  truth." 

Her  quiet  tone,  the  perfect  composure  of  her  face,  very 
pale  and  lovely  in  the  moonlight  as  she  turned  it  upon 
him,  struck  some  faint  spark  of  generosity. 

"By  Heaven!"  said  he  admiringly.  "You're  a  well- 
plucked  one!  The  truth  you  want.  Split  me,  'tis  all 
true!  But  you're  right  there's  yet  another  reason.  I 
want  to  win  a  wager,  my  little  darling !" 

"What  wager,  sir?" 

"You."  He  grinned  at  her.  "That  spark  of  yours — he 
is  a  spark  of  yours,  ain't  he? — that  fine  young  fellow, 
Jocelyn  Bellairs,  he  wagered  you  were  too  virtuous  for  a 

121 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


man  to  have  a  chance  with.  But  I  wagered  him  you  wasn't. 
Come  now,  you're  a  good-hearted  piece.  Help  me  to  win 
my  wager,  and  I'll  make  it  worth  your  while." 

Pamela  reflected  profoundly.  Then  she  gave  a  little 
laugh. 

"Why,  Sir  Jasper!"  she  exclaimed.  "What  sad,  wild 
creatures  you  gentlemen  are!  It  comes  to  this,  then 
I've  got  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  job."  Then  she  swal- 
lowed hard,  and  said,  with  a  still  more  sprightly  air, 
"You'll  give  me  a  bit  of  supper  at  Ashford,  I  suppose,  for 
I'm  mortal  hungry." 

He  broke  into  hoarse  laughter,  and  cried  again  that, 
by  Heaven,  she  was  a  well-plucked  one,  and  they'd  get  on 
first  class;  that  she  should  have  the  finest  supper  the 
Bear  Inn  could  afford.  If  she'd  stand  by  him,  by  jingo, 
he'd  stand  by  her.  There  wasn't  a  gentleman  in  England 
who'd  be  such  a  friend  to  the  woman  who  trusted  him  as 
he  would  be  to  her. 

When  they  arrived  at  Ashford,  she  demanded,  with  a 
sudden  air  of  command,  which  became  her,  he  thought, 
mightily,  and  tickled  his  already  high  good  humor  to  posi- 
tive hilarity,  that  she  should  be  brought  to  a  sitting-room 
and  partake  of  the  meal  in  privacy  while  the  post-chaise 
was  being  got  ready. 

"And,"  quoth  she,  "let  it  be  champagne,  Sir  Jasper, 
since" — she  gave  him  a  wide,  taunting  smile — "  'tis  to  be 
made  worth  my  while." 

He  flung  an  arm  about  her  the  moment  the  waiter  had 
withdrawn ;  she  freed  herself  with  a  vigorous  thrust,  but 
as  she  did  so,  she  laughed. 

"Nay,  drink  your  Sillery,  sir.  Aye,  pour  me  a  glass. 
Oh,  aye,  I'll  drink  any  toast  you  like.  Have  you  not  said 
it  yourself?  I'm  the  best-natured  girl  in  the  world — so 

122 


THE  VALUE  OF  VIRTUE 


long  as  you  keep  your  place,  sir.  Why,  'tis  the  finest 
pigeon  pie  I've  tasted  since  Paris.  You  know  I  was  in 
Paris,  Sir  Jasper?" 

Sir  Jasper  chuckled,  winking  at  her. 

Her  fingers  clenched  round  her  knife,  the  while  her 
smile  would  not  have  misbefitted  the  lips  of  a  bacchante. 

"And  will  you  bring  me  to  the  opera,  Sir  Jasper?  Oh, 
and  to  Ranelagh?  Oh,  to  think  of  me  going  to  Ranelagh 
on  a  gentleman's  arm,  like  a  lady !" 

He  was  enraptured.  He  tossed  the  remainder  of  his 
tumbler  down,  and  filled  himself  a  third,  emptying  the 
bottle.  He  had  almost  forgotten  the  wager  in  the  intoxi- 
cation of  his  personal  triumph.  Dash  it!  It  had  not 
taken  him  long  to  cut  out  young  Bellairs.  What  a  demni- 
tion  handsome  piece  she  was.  There  wasn't  one  of  those 
raffish  ladies  he  had  left  behind  him  at  Standish  Hall  could 
hold  a  candle  to  her.  And  odds  his  life !  What  a  pair  of 
eyes  she  had,  and  what  teeth,  and  what  a  skin ! 

Suddenly  she  dropped  her  knife  and  fork. 

"Sir  Jasper,"  said  she,  with  an  air  of  great  gravity, 
"I'll  not  go  a  step  further  with  you  unless  you  do  some- 
thing for  me." 

"Name  it,  my  dear." 

"Why,  sir,  send  Job  back  with  a  letter  to  my  parents. 
And  'twill  be  the  best  for  yourself,  I  can  tell  you,  as  mat- 
ters stand.  My  father  wouldn't  let  the  King  rob  him  of 
his  daughter  without  a  fight." 

He  stood  staring  at  her  doubtfully,  his  wide  nostrils 
scenting  mischief  like  an  irritated  bull;  she  went  on  very 
quickly,  "I'll  not  go  a  step  farther  with  you  unless  you 
do.  Give  me  your  tablets — gentlemen  always  carry  them, 
I  know.  You  shall  see  for  yourself  what  I  write : 

123 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


"Dear  Father,  don't  be  alarmed,  I'm  going  with  Sir 
Jasper  for  a  wager.  'Tis  a  mere  joke.  He's  too  grand  a 
gentleman  to  let  harm  come  to  me  out  of  it.  Your  loving 
daughter,  Pam." 

She  read  it  to  him.  He  went  over  it  himself,  then  once 
more  tried  to  catch  her  to  him,  vowing  she  was  as  clever 
as  she  was  handsome. 

"Nay,  nay,  nay!"  She  was  the  most  imperative,  tan- 
talizing creature  possible  to  imagine.  "Now,  Sir  Jasper, 
run  and  give  this  to  Job  yourself.  Stay,  put  a  guinea 
with  it,  to  make  the  lad  eager.  Tell  him  to  ride,  ride, 
ride,  hell  for  leather !  Isn't  that  what  you  gentlemen  say, 
'Hell  for  leather5?"  she  repeated,  laughing,  as  she  hustled 
him  from  the  room.  "Don't  come  back  to  me  till  you've 
seen  him  start." 

He  went.  That  third  bumper  of  champagne  on  the 
head  of  so  many  potations  earlier  in  the  day,  after  the 
long,  cold  drive,  had  fairly  stupefied  him.  He  went,  be- 
cause her  strong  will  drove  him,  without  attempting  to 
analyze  her  motive.  For  the  moment  his  suspicious  brain 
was  lulled  to  a  kind  of  imbecile  complacence.  He  went 
pounding  forth.  As  soon  as  the  sound  of  his  heavy  steps 
died  away  on  the  wooden  boards,  Pamela  was  out  of  the 
room  like  a  dart. 

She  had  seen  the  dark  pit  of  the  back  stairs  gape  on 
the  passage  as  they  had  passed  along  to  the  sitting-room. 
She  was  down  it  now,  as  sure-footed  as  if  it  had  been  lit 
up.  In  another  moment,  past  a  pair  of  staring  kitchen 
sluts  and  a  tapman,  she  was  out  in  the  back  yard  and 
running  along  the  village  street. 

She  always  declared,  afterwards,  that  she  had  been  as 
one  guided.  She  did  not  pause  to  reconnoiter  or  hesitate 

124 


THE  VALUE  OF  VIRTUE 


at  a  turning.  Fleet  and  light  as  a  shadow,  she  raced 
through  the  alleys  of  the  little  town,  deserted  this  Christ- 
mas night,  till  she  came  to  a  point  on  the  main  road  which 
she  knew  Job  Stallion  must  pass  on  his  homeward  way, 
and  then  she  hid  herself. 

She  had  not  very  long  to  wait  before  the  beat  of  horses' 
hoofs  resounded  on  the  frozen  ground.  Hell  for  leather, 
indeed!  'Twas  the  most  egregious  jog-trot  that  ever  took 
lazy  groom  and  unwilling  horse  from  warm  quarters  on  a 
Christmas  night! 

Job  Stallion  let  fly  a  terrified  oath  as  Pamela  rose  out 
of  the  ditch  and  laid  a  hand  upon  his  bridle.  He  was 
scarcely  less  alarmed  when  he  discovered  that  he  had  to  do 
with  neither  wraith  nor  highwaywoman,  but  with  his  mas- 
ter's prize.  She  cut  short  his  "darsen'ts"  and  his  whim- 
pering expostulations  very  sternly. 

"I  am  going  to  ride  pillion  behind  you,  Job  Stallion, 
and  you  must  whip  up  that  fat  brute  of  a  post-horse  to 
something  of  a  canter,  for  you've  got  to  carry  me  back 
home  before  Sir  Jasper  can  overtake  us.  Thank  your 
stars,  my  lad,"  she  went  on,  "that  the  Lord  has  given  you 
a  chance  of  redeeming  the  night's  work,  for  I  tell  you  it 
would  have  gone  hard  with  any  who  had  a  hand  in  it. 
Men  have  been  hanged  for  less !" 

She  kept  him  busy  with  whip  and  spur  till  the  old  gray 
mare  wheezed  and  bucketed  along  the  road  at  a  pace 
astonishing  for  her  years  and  size. 

It  was  somewhere  midway  between  Ashford  and  Pit- 
fold  that  they  crossed  Mr.  Bellairs  riding  towards  them 
on  his  own  rakish  chestnut  as  if  for  a  race.  If  Pamela's 
heart  beat  high  at  sight  of  him,  she  did  not  avow  her  pride 
and  pleasure  even  to  herself;  if  her  bright,  clear  heat  of 
anger  and  triumphant  determination  gave  place  to  ten- 

125 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


der,  womanly  emotions,  she  betrayed  no  sign  of  them. 
She  postponed  explanations,  and  issued  instructions  to 
Mr.  Bellairs  as  to  Job  Stallion  in  the  accents  of  one  who 
means  they  shall  be  carried  out. 

"You  will  kindly  ride  a  hundred  paces  behind  me,  Mr. 
Bellairs.  I  have  no  notion  of  having  my  name  mixed  up 
with  yours  or  Sir  Jasper's  this  night.  As  for  you,  Job, 
hand  me  over  that  tablet.  You  can  keep  the  guinea  for 
yourself.  And  you  will  drop  me,  if  you  please,  in  the 
courtyard  at  Standish  Hall,  for  'tis  not  too  late  to  join 
the  dancers  in  the  barn.  And  I  mean  there  shall  be  no 
talk  on  this  night's  work,  if  I  can  help  it. 

"If  you  breathe  a  word,  Job  Stallion,  you'll  wish  you 
never  were  born,  or  my  father's  name  not  Jeremy  Pounce ! 
And  as  for  you,  Mr.  Bellairs,  sir,  you've  won  your  wager — 
yes,  I  know  all  about  it — so  you  owe  me  a  good  turn,  I 
think,  and  all  I  ask  for  is  silence,  silence !  My  father's  a 
violent  man,  and  it  does  no  woman's  name  any  good — no, 
not  even  a  poor  milliner's — to  be  made  such  sport  of  as 
mine  betwixt  you  two  gentlemen  to-night.  As  for  Sir 
Jasper,  I  warrant  he'll  hold  his  tongue.  He  don't  cut  so 
fine  a  figure !" 

And  so  it  ended.  Pamela  went  to  the  barn  dance  after 
all,  and  danced  in  vast  condescension  with  several  agree- 
able young  farmers.  Jocelyn  Bellairs  got  the  rector  to 
introduce  him  to  Mrs,  Pounce,  and  sitting  beside  that 
lady  made  himself  so  agreeable  that  she  was,  as  she  ex- 
pressed it,  quite  in  a  twitter.  Mindful  of  his  word  passed 
to  Sir  Jasper,  he  did  not  again  approach  Pamela,  but 
the  gaze  with  which  he  followed  her  about  the  long  room 
was  eloquent  enough. 

When  the  little  Pounces  had  nearly  yawned  themselves 
off  the  benches,  and  Pamela's  poppet,  Peg,  had  gone  to 

126 


sleep  outright,  her  curly  head  on  her  mother's  ample  lap, 
it  was  the  elegant  young  gentleman  who  conducted  Mrs. 
Pounce  to  the  waiting  farm-cart,  with  as  much  courtesy 
as  if  he  were  leading  a  duchess  to  her  barouche.  The 
moon  was  set.  The  courtyard  was  fitfully  illumined  by 
torches  thrust  into  clamps  in  the  wall  and  by  the  shifting 
rays  of  the  lanterns  carried  by  the  revelers. 

As  Pamela,  standing  by  the  cart,  lifted  Peg  up  to  her 
mother's  extended  arms,  while  Mr.  Bellairs  obligingly  held 
the  lantern,  Sir  Jasper's  curricle  wheeled  slowly  into  the 
yard,  drawn  by  a  pair  of  fairly  exhausted  thoroughbreds. 
Without  stirring  from  his  high  seat,  the  reins  slipping 
from  his  hands,  Sir  Jasper  stared  at  the  picture  painted 
on  the  night  as  at  some  spectral  vision. 

"Why,  here's  Sir  Jasper!"  cried  an  obsequious  voice. 
"Three  cheers  for  Sir  Jasper,  lads !" 

Perhaps  because  his  appearance  had  been  as  unexpected 
as  his  disappearance,  perhaps  because  the  sight  of  his 
dreadful  face  of  wrath,  flamingly  illumined  by  the  red 
glare  of  a  torch  was  enough  to  choke  off  any  demonstra- 
tion, perhaps  because  he  was  too  unpopular  a  landlord 
even  for  so  many  glasses  of  negus  and  so  many  mince  pies 
to  counterbalance — however  it  may  have  been,  there  was 
but  a  poor  response:  a  faint  cry,  that  rose  and  quavered 
away.  It  was  almost  more  deadly  in  its  effect  than  an 
execration.  Sir  Jasper  rolled  a  bloodshot  eye  upon  his 
tenants  and  neighbors. 

"Blast  you  all !"  he  cried  huskily,  let  himself  drop  from 
his  seat,  and  reeled  towards  the  house. 

On  New  Year's  Day  Pamela  returned  to  London,  and 
on  the  day  after  a  summons  to  Yeoman  Pounce  to  attend 
at  Mr.  Grinder's  office  in  Canterbury  caused  some  per- 

127 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


turbation  to  the  inmates  of  Little  Pitfold.  But  when  he 
returned  he  brought  astounding  intelligence. 

"You'll  never  believe  it,  wife !"  he  cried  from  the  thresh- 
old, "but  the  mortgage  is  paid  off!  Buss  me,  mother, 
we're  free  of  our  own  again !" 

"Oh,  'tis  our  Pam!  'Tis  that  best  of  children!  Oh, 
the  surprise,  father!  Oh,  the  slyness  of  it,  never  telling 
us  a  word!  Oh,  was  there  ever  so  good  a  girl?" 

"Lawyer  Grinder,"  said  the  farmer,  letting  himself  drop 
heavily  in  a  chair,  "kept  a  close  mouth.  He  wasn't  at 
liberty,  those  were  his  words,  to  say  who  it  was  as  had 
paid  it  off.  'But  paid  off  it  is,  and  that's  enough  for  you, 
farmer,'  says  he.  'I  reckon  I  know  whom  I'm  beholden 
to,'  I  says,  'and  I'll  tell  you  plain,  lawyer,'  says  I,  'I'm 
not  a  man  as  'ud  be  beholden  without  it  was  to  one  who,  so 
to  speak,  be  but  paying  back  what's  due  to  a  parent.' 
At  that  he  smiles  on  the  wrong  side  of  his  mouth,  after  his 
fashion,  wife,  none  best  pleased,  I  can  tell  you.  As  for  Sir 
Jasper — well,  he  won't  get  hold  o'  Little  Pitfold  nohow 
now !" 

When  Mrs.  Pounce  wrote  to  Pamela  in  London  the  letter 
was  very  full  of  blessings  on  a  good  daughter. 

("And  your  father  is  so  out  of  himself  with  joy,  my 
dear;  'tis  a  new  lease  of  life.") 

And  Pamela  smiled  as  she  read.  Her  lover,  now  very 
respectful,  though  by  no  means  less  ardent,  had  told  her 
the  story  of  the  wager.  Who  was  to  say,  after  all,  that 
she  had  not  paid  off  the  mortgage?  As  for  the  rest,  she 
knew  when  to  speak  and  when  to  be  silent. 


CHAPTER  VI 

IN  WHICH  MY  LADY  ETLCBONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH  AND  MISS 
POUNCE  THROWS  COLD  WATEB  ON  IT 


late  Lady  Standish  was  one  of  my  Lady  Kil- 
-••  croney's  earliest  friends. 

When  Kitty  first  burst  upon  society  in  the  select  pre- 
cincts of  Bath  —  then  the  fabulously  rich,  unpardonably 
pretty,  delightful,  audacious,  amazing  little  Widow  Bel- 
lairs!  —  Julia  Standish  was  scarce  a  three  weeks'  bride. 

From  the  very  beginning  Kitty's  endeavor  had  been  to 
insert  some  backbone  into  the  lovely  but  invertebrate 
Julia  ;  and  once,  in  despair,  she  had  summed  up  the  situa- 
tion by  exclaiming  that  "  'twas  like  trying  to  mold  too 
soft  a  jelly:  the  moment  you  thought  you  had  her  into 
shape,  she  was  deliquescent  again." 

Therefore,  though  the  connection  was  long  and  close; 
though  Kitty,  whether  as  Mistress  Bellairs  or  my  Lady 
Kilcroney,  counted  no  party  complete  without  her  Julia; 
though,  when  in  town  together  scarce  a  day  could  pass 
upon  which  Julia,  driven  by  the  stress  of  some  overwhelm- 
ing emotional  crisis  did  not  fling  herself,  weeping,  upon 
Kitty's  breast;  it  could  not  be  said  that  my  Lady  Kil- 
croney was  very  ardently  attached  to  Lady  Standish,  or 
that  her  death,  sad  and  premature  as  it  was,  plunged  her 
in  any  depth  of  sorrow* 

The  truth  was  that  Julia  Standish,  elegant  and  vir- 
tuous, fair  to  look  on  and  fond  of  feeling,  belonged  to 
the  class  that  wear  out  the  affections  by  overusage.  The 
stuff  of  Kitty's  sturdy  good  comradeship  had  been  worn 

129 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


so  uncommonly  thin  that  at  the  time  of  Julia's  lamented 
death  scarcely  enough  had  been  left  between  them  to  make 
a  darn  worth  while. 

Kitty  liked  life  in  a  strong  brew  and  Lady  Standish 
wept  into  her  cup  so  persistently  that  there  was  nothing 
left  but  salt  water. 

Nevertheless,  when  the  news  of  the  irreparable  event 
reached  her,  my  Lady,  being  the  best-hearted  little  woman 
in  the  world,  wept  herself  for  quite  three  minutes ;  and 
then,  dispatching  her  Lord  to  see  what  service  he  could  be 
to  poor  Sir  Jasper,  ordered  her  sedan  and  had  herself  de- 
posited at  Madame  Mirabel's  in  Bond  Street,  to  order  a 
black  bonnet  and  mourning  mantle  for  the  funeral. 

My  Lord  had  set  out  on  his  melancholy  errand  with  a 
dutiful  concealment  of  its  intense  distastefulness. 

He  thought  Jasper's  case  the  most  confounded  dreadful 
a  man  could  be  placed  in;  and  shrank,  with  all  his  Irish 
softness,  from  the  spectacle  of  a  woe  beyond  his  conso- 
lation. 

He  found  matters  even  more  tragic  than  he  anticipated. 
The  last  word  Sir  Jasper's  incomparable  Julia  murmured 
to  him,  as,  her  hand  in  his,  she  left  him  for  a  better  world, 
was  to  remind  him  of  his  promise  never  to  replace  her. 
This  pledge  had  been  exacted  many  times  during  the  seven 
years  of  their  existence  together,  but  never  more  solemnly 
than  in  the  hours  that  had  preceded  her  demise. 

From  the  moment  of  her  seizure — spasms  on  the  lungs — 
to  that  last  breath,  Sir  Jasper  had  been  in  unremitting 
attendance.  Every  physician  of  note  had  been  summoned 
to  her  bedside ;  but,  in  spite  of  all  the  resources  of  science, 
bloodings,  blisters  and  cuppings,  pills  and  potions,  poor 
Julia  Standish  persisted  in  succumbing.  He  was  the  most 
afflicted  of  widowers !  She  had  been  the  pearl  of  wives. 

130 


LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH 

No  woman  could  ever  compare  with  her  in  the  whole  world 
again.  He  was  a  blasted  man.  "Console  himself  1"  he 
roared.  That  angel,  that  departed  saint  need  have  put 
him  to  no  promise.  She  might  sleep  in  peace ;  her  Jasper 
was  henceforth  naught  but  a  solitary  mourner.  What  was 
left  him,  indeed,  but  to  live  for  his  little  ones,  those  five 
pledges  of  their  mutual  affection;  to  rear  them  worthy 
of  such  a  mother,  and,  his  task  accomplished,  take  his 
broken  heart  to  lie  beside  her  in  the  grave?  "For  I  will 
be  buried  with  my  Julia,"  he  cried  upon  each  fresh  gush 
of  tears. 

"Faith,"  said  Lord  Kilcroney  to  his  Kitty,  describing 
the  scene  to  her  when  they  met  again,  "she's  dropped  her 
mantle  upon  him  with  a  vengeance.  Wasn't  it  the  water- 
ing-pot you  used  to  call  her,  me  darling?  The  poor  lady ! 
He  caught  me  by  the  neck  a  while  ago,  and  troth  he  soaked 
me  to  the  skin.  *She  was  the  most  elegant  woman !'  cries 
he.  'She  was  that,  me  lad,'  says  I.  'And  the  most  vir- 
tuous !'  cries  he,  with  another  gulp.  'Aye,  that  she  was,' 
cries  I.  And,  sure,  Kitty,  if  ever  a  poor  soul  made  virtue 
tedious  and  dismal " 

"Hush,  hush!"  My  Lady  Kilcroney  interrupted. 
"Speak  no  ill  of  the  dead,  sir.  Poor  Julia,  she  was  a 
fond,  foolish  creature,  but  she  was  an  old  friend,  and, 
'pon  honor,  Denis,  I'm  crying  for  her  myself.  'Tis  but 
fitting  indeed  that  Sir  Jasper,  who  was  a  sad,  bad  hus- 
band, my  love,  and  would  have  given  any  woman  red  eyes, 
should  mourn  her  now." 

"  'Tis  the  frantickest  widower  I  ever  met.  Mourn, 
quotha !  'How  shall  I  survive  ?'  is  all  his  cry,  and  to  see 
him  going  on  that  way,  you'd  scarce  give  him  a  sennight." 

"Pshaw!"  said  Kitty.  "Such  frantic  fits  never  last,  I 

131 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


give  him  a  sennight,  my  Lord,  to — to  dry  his  eyes  and 
look  about  for  number  two." 

"  'Pon  me  honor,  Kitty,  you're  out  of  it !  Didn't  she 
extract  a  promise  from  him,  the  dying  angel,  that  he'd 
never  look  at  woman  again,  and  as  for  marriage " 

"And  if  that  isn't  Julia  all  over!"  cried  Kitty  indig- 
nantly. "And  he  with  five  children!  A  man  of  Sir  Jas- 
per's temperament!  Tush!  Pooh!  And  were  I  on  my 
deathbed,  Denis,  'twould  be  the  last  of  my  wishes  to  lay 
such  a  monstrous  bit  of  nonsense  on  your  spirits.  Why, 
'twould  be  but  tempting  you  to  perjury.  Yes,  you — or 
any  other  man.  'Look  out  for  a  well-bred  creature,  pray,' 
I  would  say,  'and  a  healthy,  that  she  be  kind  to  our  little 
Denis,  and  pick  her  sensible  for  the  Lord's  sake.'  Now, 
Sir  Jasper,  mark  my  words,  I  give  him  a  week  to  bellow, 
and,  after  that — observe  me — he  will  be  found  at  such 
common,  low  places  as  a  cockfight,  or  a  bruising  match, 
with  a  kerchief  high  about  his  neck,  and  a  hat  down  on  his 
eyes.  And  he  will,  like  as  not,  make  expeditions  to  Bristol 
and  Plymouth,  where  he  is  less  known,  and  where  a  man 
may  attend  a  bit  of  sport  without  his  friends'  eyes  upon 
him.  Do  I  not  know  your  masculine  ways,  my  Lord?  And 
by  and  by  he  will  be  found  at  the  clubs,  at  the  cards,  and 
the  betting;  and  however  lugubrious  he  may  show  his 
countenance,  and  however  sadly  he  may  heave  his  sigh 
when  he  first  appears,  'twill  wear  off  marvelous !  And  oh, 
and  oh,"  cried  Kitty,  breaking  into  wrathful  laughter, 
"then  there  will  be  never  such  a  buck  on  the  town,  nor  one 
with  such  an  eye  for  petticoats,  as  your  disconsolate 
widower !" 

"  'Tis  a  biting  tongue  ye  have  in  your  head,  me  dar- 
ling," said  Kilcroney,  half-admiring,  half-displeased. 

"Before  the  year  is  out,"  concluded  my  Lady  triumph- 

132 


LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH 

antly,  "  'twill  be  the  duty  of  all  his  friends,  aye,  and  of 
poor  dear  Julia's,  who  care  for  the  welfare  of  her  children, 
to  see  that  he  is  safe  wed.  I  shall  look  to  it  myself.  I  owe 
it  to  the  memory  of  poor  dear  Julia !" 

Kitty  broke  off.  Her  glance  roamed.  A  frown  cor- 
rugated her  white  forehead.  Kilcroney  saw  that  she  was 
mentally  seeking,  among  all  her  acquaintance,  for  a  sub- 
stitute with  the  desired  qualifications. 

About  the  time  of  Sir  Jasper's  bereavement,  that  dis- 
tinguished peer,  my  Lord  Ongar,  put  off  this  mortal  coil. 
The  title  and  fortune  passed  to  a  nephew,  and  it  was 
found  that  his  widow  and  the  daughter,  who  was  yet  too 
young  to  have  left  the  parent  nest,  were  singularly  ill- 
provided  for.  My  Lady  Ongar,  who  was  a  Frenchwoman, 
was  in  poor  health;  and  much  sympathy  was  felt  for  her 
situation,  as  well  as  for  that  of  the  little  Lady  Selina, 
who,  on  the  threshold  of  presentation  to  the  world,  found 
herself  suddenly  at  so  great  a  disadvantage.  It  was  true 
that  both  her  sisters  had  made  good  marriages ;  one  to 
Lord  Verney,  who  had  a  house  in  town  as  well  as  country 
property;  the  other  to  Squire  Day,  of  Queen's  Compton. 
But  then,  as  Kitty  Kilcroney  said,  who  that  had  a  heart 
in  her  breast  could  suggest  placing  a  high-spirited  girl 
under  the  charge  of  Susan  Verney?  "For  sure,  my  dear, 
somewhere  back  there  must  have  been  a  slave-driver  among 
her  ancestors.  And  as  for  Nan  Day,  was  she  not  lost  in 
domestic  bliss ;  and  no  one  ought  to  expect  pretty  Selina 
to  bury  herself  in  hay  cocks  and  babies — other  people's 
babies." 

It  was  owing  to  the  Viscountess  Kilcroney's  influence 
that  the  young  lady  was  offered  a  post  about  the  Princess 
Augusta,  the  second  of  the  bevy  of  beautiful  Royal  Prin- 
cesses ;  for  since  assuming  her  duties  as  I  ady-in- Waiting 

133 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


to  Queen  Charlotte,  Kitty  had  vastly  pleased  Her  Majesty 
in  that  capacity. 

Not  indeed  that  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  who  now  had  her 
own  personal  experience  to  go  by,  approved  of  Court  life 
as  a  career  for  any  young  unmarried  female.  'Twas 
monstrous  cramping,  she  declared  to  those  who  had  her 
complete  confidence;  and  the  Royals,  perfect  beings  as 
they  were,  and  gratifying  as  it  was  to  be  chosen  to  serve 
them,  had  a  fashion  of  very  naturally  considering  them- 
selves paramount  and  their  favor  the  chief  benefit  of  ex- 
istence. 

"I'll  not  have  the  child's  youth  sucked  out  of  her," 
quoth  my  Lady,  in  the  strict  privacy  of  her  chamber,  to 
the  grunting  Denis,  who  himself  disliked  the  Court  and  all 
its  ways  with  a  large  intolerance,  born  of  its  demands  on 
his  Kitty.  "But  a  year,  my  love,  'twill  give  her  a  certain 
stamp  of  elegance.  We  can  scarce  look  for  a  very  great 
marriage  for  our  Selina,  with  never  two  farthings  in  her 
pocket,  but  there  are  a  vast  of  pleasant  gentlemen  of  the 
second  rank  who  water  at  the  mouth  at  the  thought  of 
anything  favored  by  Royalty." 

It  was  not  till  Lady  Selina  had  been  some  nine  months 
in  her  new  post,  and  Sir  Jasper  Standish  well  nigh  a  year 
a  widower,  that  the  great  idea  flashed  into  Kitty's  mind. 

Sir  Jasper  was  a  personable  man  and  had  not  yet  topped 
thirty-five;  a  very  prime  age  for  a  bridegroom  with  the 
greenness  of  youth  cast  off,  the  tedium  of  maturity  not 
yet  as  much  as  dawned.  With  your  man  of  thirty-five  it 
is  a  point  of  honor  to  be  as  ready  with  the  generosity  of 
youth  as  the  lad  of  twenty,  especially  should  his  fancy 
turn  to  sweet  seventeen.  He  will  have  gained,  however,  a 
vast  of  experience,  and,  unless  he  be  a  fool,  a  seasoned 
judgment.  Sir  Jasper  was  no  fool;  and  though  he  had  so 

134 


LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH 

far  justified  my  Lady  Kilcroney's  prognostications  as  to 
be  more  conspicuous  at  any  dashing  sport  meeting  than 
ever  before,  he  kept  chiefly  in  the  company  of  his  own  sex, 
and  never  so  much  as  noticed  the  passage  of  the  most 
flouncing  petticoat ;  and  who  was  more  likely  to  know  than 
Kitty,  since  she  was  the  only  lady  in  the  world  whose 
society  the  widower  now  frequented ! 

At  first  the  talk  would  be  all  of  his  Julia ;  but  in  a  little 
while  lamentations  gave  way  to  more  cheerful  discourse 
anent  the  young  family. 

It  was  in  her  capacity  of  godmother  to  little  Kate 
Standish  that,  a  due  interval  having  elapsed  since  the  loss 
of  their  ever-to-be-regretted  Julia,  Kitty  Kilcroney  first 
addressed  Sir  Jasper  on  the  subject  of  a  second  marriage. 
She  was,  of  course,  quite  prepared  for  the  shocked  refusal 
which  met  her. 

Was  it  possible  my  Lady  Kilcroney  should  not  be  aware 
of  the  solemn  vow,  by  which  he  had  pledged  himself  to  his 
"Dying  Treasure,"  to  remain  ever  faithful  to  her  memory? 

My  Lady  Kilcroney  was  very  well  aware  of  it.  Heaven 
knew,  she  exclaimed,  rolling  her  pansy  eyes  towards  the 
ceiling  of  her  drawing-room — she  was  for  the  while  free  of 
her  Court  duties,  and  was  established  in  the  Hertford 
Street  mansion — Heaven  knew,  if  ever  there  was  any  one 
in  the  world  who  could  appreciate  what  a  second  mar- 
riage meant  to  a  true  mourner  it  was  she !  When  Bellairs 

went "Ah,  you  never  knew  my  first,  Sir  Jasper !  The 

most  excellent,  the  most  estimable,  the  most  generous  and 
noble-minded  of  men.  There  was  not  a  condition  in  his 
will,  I  do  assure  you !  Everything,  everything  left  to  me ! 
'My  dearest  wife,  Kitty,  in  token  of  the  perfect  happiness 
she  gave  me.'  Those  were  his  words,  Sir  Jasper.  But  a 
year's  happiness,  alas!  and  he,  poor  seraph,  scarce  able 

135 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


to  endure  any  one  in  the  room  with  him  with  the  gout  so 
cruel  settled  in  his  joints  that,  if  you'll  believe  me,  his  feet 
were  like  nothing  so  much  as  warming-pans,  and  his 
hands — my  poor  Bellairs'  hands,  why,  there  were  days 
when  he  could  not  have  borne  that  a  butterfly  should  settle 
on  them !  When  my  cherished  martyr  was  released  from 
his  sufferings,  did  I  not,  like  you,  vow  in  my  heart  that 
I  never,  never  could  replace  him?" 

Here  Kitty  fixed  her  eyes  upon  Sir  Jasper's  lugubrious 
countenance,  and,  positively,  though  her  tone  was  filled 
with  such  pious  melancholy,  they  twinkled. 

"I  fail  to  see  the  analogy,  my  Lady  Kilcroney,"  said 
he  huffily.  "My  Julia  was  as  young  as  she  was  fair,  as 
elegant  in  form  as  she  was  virtuous  in  character." 

"True,  true,  Sir  Jasper !  Bellairs  became,  very  shortly 
after  our  espousals,  a  wreck,  an  absolute  wreck.  But  he 
retained  the  most  admirable  amiability  of  temper.  'Twas 
indeed  that  which  first  drew  my  heart  to  him.  'My  dear,' 
he  said  to  me,  'when  I  heard  that  my  poor  old  friend  Ned 
had  gone  smash,  and  shot  himself  and  left  a  little  daughter 
without  a  farthing  to  buy  a  ribbon  with,  I  cast  about  in 
my  mind  what  I  should  do  to  help  her.  And,  faith,  I  can 
think  of  no  better  way,  my  dear,  than  to  make  a  rich 
widow  of  you.'  And  then  he  set  to  laughing  in  his  droll, 
wheezing  way.  'I'm  game  for  a  year,'  says  he,  'if  you  can 
stand  the  old  man  for  a  year,'  says  he.  'I'll  put  you  in 
the  way  of  getting  the  best  the  world  can  give  you ;  honor 
and  good  repute,  and  wealth  and  a  young  husband  in  due 
time — better  than  if  your  poor  father  had  kept  out  of 
indigo.  If  you'll  trust  me,  I'll  trust  you,'  says  he.  And 
my  dear  Bellairs  kept  his  word  royally.  He'd  never  so 
much  as  a  suspicion  of  me;  or  aught  but  a  smile  for  my 
pleasures."  Here  a  tear  suddenly  flashed.  "I'm  proud 

136 


LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH 

to  say,"  cried  Kitty,  "I  deserved  his  confidence.  Is  there 
ever  anything  so  beautiful  in  life  as  wedded  trust?" 

Sir  Jasper  went  home  thoughtful.  His  Julia  had  had 
every  merit,  but  if  she  had  had  also  just  the  tiniest  part 
of  Bellairs',  the  nabob's,  generosity  of  mind,  would  he, 
could  he,  have  so  often — as,  alas !  he  had !  But  there  were 
times  when  he  had  been  goaded,  indubitably  driven,  to 
seek  distraction.  Angel  as  she  had  been,  to  what  scream- 
ing vapors,  what  swoons  had  she  not  treated  him?  How 
often  also — here  he  held  his  head  higher,  and  made  a 
knowing  thrust  at  a  door  post  with  his  gold-headed  walking 
stick  as  he  went  by — had  she  not  suspected  the  vilest  deeds 
when  he  had  been  as  innocent  as  the  lambs  in  the  field? 

"You  cannot,"  said  Sir  Jasper,  sapiently  to  himself,  as 
his  marital  crimes  appeared  before  him  suddenly  trans- 
mogrified into  peccadilloes,  "you  cannot  be  said  to  betray 
a  trust  that  has  never  been  reposed  in  you." 

Next  time  my  Lady  spoke  of  matrimony  to  the  bereaved, 
it  was  in  the  tone  of  one  who  regrets  a  rash  determination, 
but  recognizes  its  binding  quality. 

"What  a  pity,  Sir  Jasper,  you  should  have  been  led 
into  such  fond  folly!  To  take  such  a  vow!  Irrevocable, 
of  course !  Who  would  have  the  dreadful  courage  to  sug- 
gest the  breaking  of  a  pledge  to  one  who  is  now  among  the 
saints.  What  if  a  father's  duty  points  one  way,  that 
deathbed  obligation  sternly  points  the  other." 

She  pitied  Sir  Jasper — she  did  indeed.  How  was  a  man, 
and  he  so  young,  to  deal  with  five  children,  and  they  with 
all  the  difficulties  of  life  before  them ;  character,  education 
and — heavens! — illnesses?  Measles  and  mumps,  hectics 
and  whooping-coughs,  and  all  the  rest  of  it !  "Poor  Julia, 
could  she  but  see  now  to  what  her  intemperate  passion  for 

137 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


you  has  led !  If  our  Julia  had  a  fault — dare  I  say  it,  Sir 
Jasper? — she  was  a  little,  leetle  inclined  to  jealousy." 

When  Kitty  returned  to  Queen's  Lodge  to  take  up 
service  with  Her  Majesty,  Sir  Jasper  and  she  had  come 
to  discussing  very  freely  the  kind  of  person  who  might  be 
regarded  as  worthy  to  fill  their  dearest  Julia's  shoes. 

Kitty  was  full  of  suggestions,  but,  one  way  or  another, 
the  paragons  enumerated  by  the  lady  were  never  to  the 
gentleman's  taste. 

When  Lady  Selina  joined  the  Court  circle,  she  was,  if 
truth  be  told,  the  very  last  young  female  whom  Kitty 
could  in  conscience  have  selected  as  a  fitting  companion 
for  a  widower  of  Sir  Jasper's  kidney,  or  the  proper  kind 
of  stepmother  to  his  peevish  brats.  Nevertheless,  when 
the  idea  came,  it  was  with  the  brilliant  conviction  of  a 
flash  of  lightning. 

Selina  Vereker  was  not  dark  and  masterful  like  Susan 
Verney,  nor  was  she  soft  and  warm-hearted,  all  feminine 
impulse  and  charm,  like  Nan  Day.  She  was  a  bold  piece, 
Kitty  had  decided  from  the  first,  with  a  short*  nose  and  a 
short  temper;  hair  under  her  powder  as  blazing  as  Sir 
Jasper's  own,  and  a  gray  eye  that  possessed  a  certain  cold, 
reflective  audacity  which  made  Kitty  thoughtful.  She 
was  a  judge  of  minxes.  Withal  the  creature,  if  not  pretty, 
was  mighty  attractive ;  with  a  little  head  on  a  white  throat, 
and  a  way  of  tossing  it;  slim,  long  limbs  like  a  boy  and 
a  freedom  of  movement  inside  her  voluminous  skirts  that 
was  almost  unbecoming  to  her  sex.  And  the  tiresome 
child  was  in  a  hundred  scrapes  and  in  Royalty's  black 
books  before  she  had  been  a  fortnight  at  her  duties.  This 
was  unpleasant  for  Kitty,  who  had  recommended  her. 
And,  as  she  had  a  kind  heart,  it  filled  her  with  apprehen- 
sion for  the  future.  For  if  anything  so  awful  were  to 

138 


LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH 

happen  as  that  Selina  should  fall  into  serious  disgrace 
and  be  dismissed  from  Court,  what  in  the  world  would  be- 
come of  her  ?  So  poor,  so  naughty,  and  so  innocent ;  with 
a  pair  of  selfish  sisters  and  her  mother  retired  to  a  con- 
vent !  Why,  with  Royal  displeasure  upon  her,  never  could 
she  hope  to  ally  herself  to  a  genteel  family ! 

Sir  Jasper!  Was  not  the  man  to  her  hand?  He  de- 
served a  wife  with  some  fire  in  her,  after  having  so  long 
endured  the  deliquescent  Julia,  and  he  deserved  too,  sad 
rake  that  he  was,  something  with  a  temper  of  her  own  to 
keep  him  to  attention  and  in  his  place. 

"To  heel,  sir,  or  beware,  there  are  other  fine  fellows  in 
the  world  who  are  ready  to  appreciate  what  you  have  the 
bad  taste  to  neglect." 

Her  mind  made  up,  Kitty  set  to  work  with  a  transparent 
artifice,  to  which  only  the  blundering  male  would  fall  a 
prey. 

"Pray,  come  to  tea  to-morrow,  sir — or  stay,  perhaps 
better  not,  for  I  have  Princess  Augusta's  Maid-of-Honor, 
the  little  Selina  Vereker,  and,  oh,  no,  I  would  not  for  the 
world  that  you  should  meet  1" 

"And  why,  pray?" 

"La,  Sir  Jasper,  and  you  on  the  lookout  for  a  new  Lady 
Standish!  You  might  fall  in  love  with  her,  to  be  sure." 

"And  what  then,  my  Lady  Kilcroney?" 

"Oh,  Sir  Jasper,  Sir  Jasper,  that  would  never  do !" 

"And  why  not,  ma'am?" 

"But  eighteen,  sir." 

"I  see  no  objection  there.'* 

"Fie,  Sir  Jasper,  and  you  turned  thirty-six!" 

"But  thirty-five  my  last  birthday,  ma'am,  as  I'm  a 
sinner." 

"A  sinner,  indeed,  Sir  Jasper,  and  now  you  have  it. 

139 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


What?  Would  you,  sir,  mate  with  innocence,  guileless- 
ness  ;  lamblike  light-heartedness,  and  sprightliness ;  you 
with ?" 

"Come,  come,  my  Lady  Kilcroney.  I've  not  been  a 
model  husband,  I  dare  say." 

"I  dare  say  not,  sir.     Heavens,  my  poor  Julia!" 

"Your  poor  Julia,  ma'am,  would  have  driven  a  saint- 
Pshaw  !  She  was  too  good  for  me !" 

"Believe  me,  sir,  you  should  wed  a  young  lady  of  some 
experience,  if  not  a  widow,  a  staid  female,  sir." 

"Thank  you,  my  Lady,  I'm  vastly  obliged,  I'm  sure." 

"And  you  so  jealous,  Sir  Jasper,  who  could  scarce  even 
trust  virtue's  self,  in  the  shape  of  Julia !  La,  to  think  of 
you  with  Selina — such  beauty,  Sir  Jasper;  such  grace, 
such  charm,  so  ready  to  take  the  pleasure  of  her  years,  so 
pure  ignorant  of  the  world's  ways !" 

"Good  heavens,  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  if  I  do  not  come 
to  your  tea  party  to-morrow,  'twill  be  that  I  am  a  dead 
man." 

"Do  not  say  you  were  not  warned,"  said  my  Lady,  and 
had  the  laugh  of  scorn  to  herself  to  see  with  what  con- 
quering airs  Sir  Jasper  glanced  at  himself  in  each  mirror 
when,  departing,  he  crossed  the  long  length  of  her  draw- 
ing-room at  Queen's  Lodge. 

The  pretty  Maid-of-Honor  and  the  already  forsworn 
widower  duly  met  over  Kitty's  Bohea  next  afternoon. 
Sir  Jasper  duly  fell  head  over  heels  in  love ;  and  before  the 
week  was  out,  they  were  engaged  to  be  married.  Royalty 
approved,  my  Lady  Ongar  gave  her  consent  with  tears  of 
joy;  and  both  Susan  Verney  and  Nan  Day  sent  cool  sis- 
terly sanction. 

Having  secured  her  victim,  Kitty  prepared  herself  to 
enjoy  every  moment  of  the  delightful  process  of  decking 

140 


LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH 

her  for  the  sacrifice.  What  woman  but  does  not  feel  that 
in  the  trousseau  lies  the  true  inward  satisfaction  of  the 
bridal  state?  To  a  benevolent  heart  like  my  Lady  Kil- 
croney's  the  choice  of  Lady  Selina's  garments ;  the  proper 
expenditure  of  the  funds  entrusted  to  her  for  the  purpose 
by  the  widowed  mother,  offered  a  task  in  which  duty  went 
hand  in  hand  with  delight.  Generous  soul  that  she  was, 
she  promptly  decided  to  supplement  the  Dowager's  ex- 
iguous allotment  by  a  contribution  of  her  own ;  secretly,  so 
as  not  to  hurt  the  poor  child's  feelings,  but  to  an  extent 
which  should  in  her  estimation  befit  the  wedding  of  a  Maid- 
of-Honor  under  the  protection  of  the  Lady  Kilcroney. 

Needless  to  add  that  to  bring  Selina  to  Pamela  Pounce 
was  almost  the  first  of  her  desires  as  self-elected  Fairy 
Godmother.  Who  but  Pamela  indeed  could  set  out  a  Bride 
so  that  her  appearance  on  the  great  morning  should  be 
an  event  in  the  world  of  Fashion?  Pamela  under  Kitty's 
instructions — there  never  was  such  a  combination  of  in- 
tellect ! 

My  Lady  Kilcroney,  as  she  drove  up  through  the  bright 
sunshine  from  Windsor,  was  filled  with  anticipations  so 
agreeable  and  exciting  that  she  had  little  thought  to  spare 
for  the  silence  and  irresponsiveness  of  the  girl  beside  her. 

Selina  had  a  delicious  little  countenance,  even  though 
she  was  sulking  heavily;  so,  when  her  glance  strayed  re- 
flectively upon  her,  my  Lady  found  nothing  in  the  contem- 
plation to  disturb  her  equanimity. 

It  was  the  first  time  in  its  annals  that  the  House  of 
Mirabel  beheld  a  carriage  with  the  Royal  liveries  halt 
before  its  portals,,  and  the  flutter  in  its  discreet  walls  was 
indescribable. 

Madame  Mirabel  herself,  catching  sight  of  the  scarlet 
splendor  through  the  first-floor  window,  was  seized  with  the 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


trembles  and  had  to  send  Miss  Clara  Smithson  for  a  glass 
of  ratafia  out  of  the  back  parlor  cupboard  before  she 
could  control  her  limbs  sufficiently  to  walk  downstairs.  It 
was  true  that  her  immense  agitation  was  promptly  allayed 
by  Miss  Polly  Popple,  who  put  her  head  in  at  the  door 
to  say: 

"It's  only  my  Lady  Elcroney  after  all,  what's  brought 
a  pale  Miss  for  a  wedding  hat.  So  don't  you  put  yourself 
about,  Madame  Mirabel,  and  Miss  Pounce  that  cool  it 
don't  look  as  if  her  opinions  were  what  they  ought  to  be  and 
gracious  goodness,  where  is  the  roll  of  silver  ribbon  came 
from  Lyons?  I  laid  it  out  of  my  hand,  Clara,  when  I  ran 
up  a  while  ago  about  Mrs.  Lafone's  bill,  and  him  giving 
all  sorts  in  the  showroom.  I  wouldn't  be  married  to  an 
elderly  gentleman  what's  miserly,  not  for — where's  the  sil- 
ver ribbon  for  mercy's  sake?  There's  the  bell  going  after 
me  like  mad.  Thank  you,  dear.  Don't  put  yourself  about, 
Madame  Mirabel — who  ever  told  you  it  was  the  Queen! 
It's  only  my  Lady  Kilcroney^ — drat  it!  there  it  goes 
again — I'm  coming." 

Pamela  Pounce  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  Kitty's  dainty 
profile  behind  the  misleading  scarlet  as  the  Queen's 
barouche  halted;  and  it  was  with  her  usual  graceful  self- 
composure  that  she  swam  forward  to  curtsy  to  her 
patroness.  Four  steps  and  a  nicely  graduated  obeisance, 
with  just  an  undulation  which  included  my  Lady's  com- 
panion, Pamela  had  a  perfect  command  of  the  correct  at- 
titude. Then  she  waved  her  hand. 

"Chairs,  Miss  Popple. — Pray  be  seated,  ladies." 

Then,  with  a  pretty  spring  of  alacrity  in  manner  and 
voice,  a  most  respectful  yet  delightfully  confidential  ap- 
proach to  familiarity: 

"And  what  can  I  show  your  Ladyship  to-day?"  cried 

142 


LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH 

she.  "There's  the  sweetest  head,  a  twist  of  cherry  tulle 
with  a  bunch  of  green  grapes,  just  come  from  Paris — 
made  for  your  Ladyship!" 

Kitty  waved  the  tempting  suggestion  to  one  side. 
"Nothing  for  me  to-day,  my  dear  creature.  I've  brought 
Lady  Selina." 

Selina,  who  had  entered,  stood  and  sat  down  like  an 
automaton  with  every  reason  to  be  dissatisfied  with  its 
surroundings,  here  gave  her  patroness  a  steely  look  of 
enmity;  and  then  cast  down  her  eyes  so  that  their  long 
eyelashes  cast  a  shadow  on  her  white  cheek. 

Pamela  appraised  the  small,  set  face  and  Kitty  pro- 
ceeded to  expound :  "The  fact  is,  Miss  Pounce,  I  am  here 
with  Lady  Selina  for  a  wedding  order." 

"Indeed,  my  Lady." 

"Yes,  indeed,"  cried  Kitty,  warming  to  her  subject, 
"the  wedding  hat,  no  less,  child,  and  the  going  away! 
Oh!  And  a  head  for  the  dinner  party  I  mean  to  give  in 
honor  of  the  engagement.  Princess  Augusta  has  promised 
to  attend.  And  the  wedding  is  to  take  place  from  my 
house  in  Hertford  Street,  Pamela,  the  very  moment  May  is 
over.  What  with  my  Lady  Verney  having  a  feeling  about 
the  mourning,  and  my  Lady  Anne  Day  so  set  about  with 
measles  in  her  nursery,  there  isn't  any  one  as  near  to  this 
dear  girl  as  myself,  if  it's  reckoned  by  old  friendship." 

Here  Kitty  paused  for  breath  and  after  duly  waiting 
for  Lady  Selina  to  express  some  acknowledgments  of  these 
handsome  sentiments,  Pamela,  in  the  young  person's  per- 
sistent mutism,  was  fain  to  remark  that  there  was  no 
one  like  her  Ladyship  for  kindness,  that  she  knew.  And 
though  this  was  but  a  deferential  murmur,  there  was  con- 
viction in  it.  Pamela  had  every  reason  for  this  testimony. 

As  Kitty  glanced  askance  at  the  bride's  most  unbride- 

143 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


like  countenance,  she  faintly  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
None  of  the  Verekers  had  good  tempers  and  she  was  not 
going  even  to  notice  Selina's  moods. 

"A  wedding  hat." 

Pamela  pondered  upon  the  bride,  while  her  quick  brains 
worked. 

("Dear,  to  be  sure,  the  poor  young  lady !  One  would 
think  'twas  her  funeral  things  they  were  getting  together. 
Who  are  they  going  to  marry  her  to?  And  why  is  my 
Lady  Kilcroney  managing  it  all,  and  that  mortal 
tickled?")  "I  wouldn't  recommend  white  satin  for  my 
Lady  Selina,"  she  said  out  loud,  "though  I  know  it's  the 
usual  thing,  my  Lady.  And  if  I  might  venture,  it  wouldn't 
do  to  be  putting  dead  white  next  her  face.  No,  my  Lady 
Kilcroney,  no,  my  Lady  Selina,  not  if  you  were  to  rouge 
ever  so  and  that  would  be  a  thousand  pities ;  my  Lady's 
skin  is  a  treat  to  look  at.  And  it's  her  cachet  to  be  pale 
with  those  dark  eyes — excuse  me,  my  Lady,  for  dropping 
into  French,  it's  a  way  I  got  into  in  Paris.  Now  I'd  like 
lace."  The  milliner  spoke  slowly  as  if  she  were  tasting 
one  by  one,  the  condiments  of  an  exquisite  dish.  "A  fine 
brim  of  real  lace,  my  Lady,  with  a  tulle  lining,  three  layers 
of  tulle,  and  the  middle  one  pale  pink.  Oh,  pale,  pale, 
pale."  Pamela  twiddled  her  fingers  in  the  air,  mitigating 
the  color  till  it  faded  into  nothingness.  "The  tint  they're 
calling  in  Paris,  culsse  de  nymphe  emue.  Excuse  me,  my 
Lady,  I  won't  be  so  bold  as  to  translate  it.  Yes,  your 
Ladyship,  the  French  have  droll  minds !  But  your  Lady- 
ship has  seized  the  idea;  not  pink,  but  just  a  warmth,  a 
lightening  of  the  white,  'twill  be  exquisite.  A  twist  of 
silver  ribbon  to  hold  it  together — Miss  Popple,  where's 
that  silver  ribbon  that  came  from  Lyons?  I  have  a  model 
here,"  went  on  Pamela,  stooping  to  pull  out  one  of  the 


LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH 

deep  drawers  of  the  cupboard  which  ran  the  length  of  the 
room,  and  in  which  the  most  special  treasures  in  the  mil- 
linery line  were  hidden  away  from  the  ordinary  public, 
only  to  be  brought  out  for  the  favored.  "I  have  a  model 
here  which  is  the  very  latest,  out  of  Paris.  It'll  never  be 
seen  at  all,  so  to  speak,  till  next  month,  and  that  on  a 
Queen's  head." 

Queen  Charlotte's  Lady-in-Waiting  sprang  up  and 
tripped  across  the  carpet  to  stand  by  the  milliner's  side. 

"It  must  be  worth  while  for  a  female  of  Fashion,"  my 
Lady  was  thinking,  "to  have  a  post  about  Queen  Marie 
Antoinette,  always  the  first  in  the  land  in  modes  and  in 
looks  as  in  everything  else." 

Now  Lady  Selina  Vereker,  hearing  the  two  women  whis- 
per as  they  stood  together,  lifted  her  eyes  and  watched 
and  hearkened  very  intently. 

"The  young  lady's  just  engaged,  I  take  it,"  said  Pamela, 
shaking  the  tissue  paper  from  a  cobweb  vision  of  blue  tulle 
and  lace. 

"  'Twas  only  ratified  by  Lady  Ongar  last  night,  from 
her  retreat  at  Wimbledon.  (They  say  it's  a  convent  of 
Wimbledon,  my  dear,  but  'tis  not  generally  known.) 

"Dear,  to  be  sure,  the  poor  lady !" 

Here  Kitty  lowered  her  voice,  but  Selina's  irately  keen 
ears  caught  the  murmur. 

"Sadly  ill-provided  for.  My  Lord  Ongar's  affairs  in 
a  desperate  state.  Hardly  a  brass  farthing  between  the 
three  poor  girls!  A  most  prodigious  relief  to  have  the 
third  settled." 

Then  Pamela's  clear  compassionate  undertone :  "I  trust 
the  young  lady  is  happy  in  her  choice,  so  young  as  she 
looks." 

145 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


The  milliner's  eye  wandered  to  the  bride  elect  and  met 
her  darkling  gaze. 

"Why,  that  goes  without  saying,"  exclaimed  my  Lady 
tartly,  "since  I  made  the  match,  Miss  Pounce.  Sir  Jasper 
Standish  is  one  of  my  lord's  oldest  friends." 

"Sir  Jasper  Standish!  Good  God!"  Pamela  started 
and  wheeled  round.  She  echoed  the  words  in  accents  which 
left  no  doubt  as  to  the  consternation  evoked  by  the  name. 

Her  face  was  reflected  in  the  glass  in  front  of  her,  and 
Selina  had  a  vision  of  its  blasted  expression  of  horror  and 
disapproval. 

The  next  moment  Miss  Pounce  had  resumed  her  usual 
bland  self-control,  and  was  bending  over  the  French  hat, 
feigning  to  be  absorbed  in  twitching  its  knotted  ribbons 
into  place. 

"Upon  my  word,  Miss  Pounce,"  exclaimed  Kitty,  in  high 
surprise  and  anger.  "And  what  have  you  got  against  Sir 
Jasper  Standish,  may  I  ask,  that  you  should  couple  his 
name  with  such  impiety?" 

"Oh,  nothing,  my  Lady,  nothing !" 

Pamela's  hands  trembled  as  she  twitched  the  faint  pink 
ribbons.  "Nothing  but  a  bit  of  a  business  trouble  between 
my  father  and  Sir  Jasper,  our  place  being  all  but  next 
door  to  Standish  Hall — I  crave  your  Ladyship's  pardon, 
I'm  sure,  for  letting  my  feelings  go  away  with  me — but 
Sir  Jasper  was  hard  on  father  over  a  mortgage." 

"Oh,  a  mortgage!  Pish,  child!"  Kitty  was  immensely 
relieved,  though  she  could  not  conceal  that  she  considered 
it  a  great  liberty  in  a  milliner  thus  to  obtrude  her  family 
affairs  upon  the  notice  of  distinguished  clients.  She  had 
not  so  very  high  an  opinion  of  Jasper  herself,  and  Pamela 
was  a  prodigious  handsome  girl!  She  had  been  actually 
trembling  over  what  might  have  come  out ! 

146 


LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH 

My  Lady's  manner  for  the  rest  of  the  seance  comically 
varied  between  a  dignified  displeasure  and  the  overwhelm- 
ing fascination  exercised  by  the  milliner's  supreme  talent. 

Lady  Selina  submitted  to  all  the  trying-on  and  listened 
to  the  prolonged  discussions  with  the  same  demeanor  of 
angry  martyrdom  which  she  had  brought  into  the  shop. 

"You've  been  insufferable,  my  dear!"  cried  Kitty,  pa- 
tience giving  way  at  length,  as  the  sleek  Royal  horses 
started  on  their  homeward  way. 

Selina  turned  her  long,  brilliant  eyes  upon  her  com- 
panion without  speaking.  There  was  a  pert  question  and 
an  underlying  significance  in  them,  which  further  exas- 
perated the  chaperone. 

"  'Pon  honor !"  exploded  Kitty,  "I  marvel  what's  to  do 
with  you.  You,  with  everything  the  world  can  give  you, 
and  three  as  sweet  hats  chosen  as  ever  I've  seen  in  my 
whole  life!  Such  a  picture  as  you'll  look,  a  Bride,  with 
your  mother's  lace  and  all,  and  by  the  airs  of  you,  you 
might  have  been  trying  on  sackcloth  to  go  to  the  stake." 

"You  must  remember,  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  that  I  am  in 
mourning." 

"Pshaw!" 

"And  Sir  Jasper,  a  widower  himself." 

"And  what  of  that,  child?" 

"Oh,  nothing,"  said  Selina.  "Do  you  think  it's  going 
to  rain?" 

Kitty  looked  at  her  long  and  earnestly.  Was  there  ever 
such  a  little  shut-up  countenance,  such  obstinate  close  lips 
and  such  naughty  secret  eyes? 

"I  wish  to  Heaven,"  she  said,  at  last,  "that  you'd  say 
what  you've  got  in  your  heart,  child." 

"Oh,  I  was  just  thinking  about  Miss  Pamela  Pounce." 

"And  what  of  her?" 

147 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


My  Lady  still  uneasily  remained  cross. 

"Oh,  I  only  thought  she  looked  honest!"  said  the  girl. 
And  not  one  other  word  to  the  purpose  could  my  Lady 
Kilcroney  extract  from  her. 

.  They  drove  into  Windsor  in  a   strained   silence  and 
separated  to  their  divers  duties  in  no  very  cordial  mood. 

Kind-hearted  people  in  positions  of  authority  are  apt  td 
fall  into  the  danger  of  doing  good  to  their  neighbors  in 
spite  of  themselves.  They  see  so  clearly  the  value  of  the 
benefits  they  mean  to  confer,  that  fate  having  given  them 
the  power  to  enforce  their  acceptance,  they  do  not  hesitate 
to  wield  it.  With  the  best  intentions  in  the  world  they 
become  tyrants.  Kitty  had  a  real  desire  to  be  of  use  to 
the  orphan,  and  she  was  quite  sure  that  the  plans  she  had 
laid  for  her  were  entirely  for  her  comfort  and  well-being. 
In  any  case  matters  had  gone  too  far  for  Selina  even  to 
dream  of  such  a  catastrophe  as  a  withdrawal  of  her  word. 

The  Maid-of-Honor  had  accepted  Sir  Jasper  of  her 
own  free  will.  If  she  had  secretly  repented,  if  she  chose 
to  sulk  and  make  a  martyr  of  herself  Kitty  knew  better 
than  to  encourage  her  by  seeming  to  notice  it.  And  my 
Lady  told  herself  that  the  moods  of  such  a  chit  were  of 
no  account.  She  was  too  fresh  out  of  the  schoolroom  to 
stand  so  much  promotion  all  together — Maid-of-Honor, 
Bride-elect,  the  pet  of  Royalty,  all  in  a  couple  of  months — 
a  little  spoiled  cat,  and  if  she  scratched  Jasper  'twould 
but  do  him  a  vast  of  good. 

Nevertheless,  my  Lady  Kilcroney  felt  slightly  uncom- 
fortable until  she  next  beheld  the  engaged  couple  together. 
Then  indeed — it  was  the  next  evening  after  their  shopping 
drive  to  London,  in  my  Lady's  own  rooms — Selina  ap- 
peared to  have  completely  forgotten  her  gloomy  fit.  The 
child  was  in  outrageous  spirits,  with  quite  scarlet  cheeks, 

148 


LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH 

taunting  and  mocking  her  ardent  lover,  till  he  was  beside 
himself. 

Kitty  forbore  rebuke.  In  her  relief  she  was  full  of  in- 
dulgence towards  behavior  which,  at  another  time,  she 
would  have  severely  reprobated. 

"My  dear  love,"  she  wrote  to  her  husband  that  night — 
she  was  still  in  attendance  at  Windsor  and  Denis,  very 
much  injured,  was  alone  at  Hertford  Street — "every- 
thing is  going  as  well  as  possible.  Do  not  forget  to  call 
on  Mr.  Gunter's  about  the  wedding  cake  and  on  Mr.  Barto- 
lozzi  about  the  tickets  of  invitation." 

Could  she  have  known  how  Lady  Selina  had  employed 
the  afternoon  of  that  very  day,  the  poor  Lady-in-Waiting 
would  have  issued  very  different  instructions. 

For  Selina  had  obtained  leave  from  her  "Royal"  to  go 
to  town  about  her  trousseau.  The  Princess  Augusta,  all 
blandness  and  good  nature,  offered  every  facility,  even  to 
her  own  carriage. 

How  grateful  was  Lady  Selina !  But,  "Oh,  no,  Ma'am," 
she  pleaded,  "it  makes  me  feel  so  horrid  shy!  There  we 
were  yesterday,  my  Lady  Kilcroney  and  I,  in  one  of  the 
Queen's  barouches  and  every  one  turning  round  and  star- 
ing at  us,  and  oh !  so  disappointed,  Ma'am,  not  to  see  the 
Royal  faces.  My  mother  is  sending  her  own  maid  for  me, 
and  we'll  take  a  chaise  and  Sister  Verney  will  meet  me  in 
the  town." 

Princess  Augusta  looked  very  kindly  at  the  child.  She 
liked  her  modest  disclaimer  and  the  little  flattery  it 
wrapped  about,  and  it  all  sounded  very  proper  and  be- 
coming. How  could  she  guess  that  Selina  was  lying  like 
a  little  devil ;  that  the  audacious  creature  would  positively 
set  out  from  the  consecrated  precincts  of  Queen's  Lodge 
alone,  take  the  common  coach  to  town  and  proceed  on 

149 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


foot  to  Bond  Street ;  in  a  kind  of  disguise  indeed,  a  plain 
bonnet,  borrowed  from  a  Royal  housemaid,  which  had  a 
brown  gauze  veil  to  drop  over  her  face,  so  that  she  might 
have  passed  her  own  mother  in  the  street  and  not  been 
known ! 

The  cunning  girl  watched  her  opportunity  and  slipped 
into  Miss  Pounce's  showroom  at  a  slack  moment.  As  she 
flung  back  her  veil,  Pamela's  color  changed ;  she  saw  who 
it  was. 

Selina  walked  up  quite  close  to  her  and  the  two  stood 
a  moment  staring  at  each  other.  The  milliner  was  too 
acute  not  to  feel  the  moment  big  with  importance  and  too 
shrewd  not  to  guess  at  the  cause. 

"What  did  you  mean,"  said  Selina  then,  "by  saying 
yesterday  like  that:  'Sir  Jasper!  good  God'?" 

Pamela  was  not  often  taken  to,  but  she  felt  herself  in  a 
most  disagreeable  fix. 

"La!"  she  faltered.  "I  could  have  bitten  my  tongue 
out.  I  can  only  ask  your  pardon." 

"I  want  you  to  answer  my  question.  What  did  you 
mean  ?" 

Pamela,  who  had  been  growing  pale,  grew  paler. 

"Father  had  trouble  with  him  over  a  mortgage." 

"Oh,  tush  with  your  mortgage!  That's  only  a  bit  of 
trumpery.  It  wasn't  the  mortgage.  You  know  some- 
thing of  Sir  Jasper." 

The  milliner  hesitated ;  then  she  tossed  her  head. 

"And  if  I  do,  my  Lady  ?  There !  There  ain't  anything 
for  you  to  suspect  me  about,  I  do  assure  you." 

"Oh,  I  don't  suspect  you !"  cried  Selina  wildly.  "I  see 
you  hate  him  !  I  hate  him  myself !  I  haven't  any  one  to 
help  me.  What  do  you  know  of  him?" 

"Nothing  that  would  count  as  against  a  genfleman's 

150 


LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  A  MATCH 

honor,"  said  Pamela,  bitterly,  recalling  with  an  inward 
shudder,  the  vile  trick  that  had  been  played  upon  her,  and 
the  narrowness  of  her  escape. 

Selina  caught  the  working  woman's  two  capable  hands. 

"I  won't  get  you  into  a  scandal !  I  know  you've  got 
your  bread  to  earn.  I'll  never  mention  your  name  or  let 
any  one  guess!  I  promise!  I  promise!  Look  here,  I'll 
put  it  differently:  if  you  were  me,  would  you  marry  Sir 
Jasper  Standish?" 

Pamela  drew  a  long  breath  and  the  truth  leaped. 

"I'd  see  myself  dead  rather !" 

The  absurdity  of  the  phrase  did  not  detract  from  its 
effectiveness. 

"Ah!"  cried  Selina.  "Thank  you!  That's  all  I  wanted 
to  know." 

She  wrung  the  hands  she  had  caught,  whisked  her  veil 
over  her  flushed  countenance  and  turned  to  leave.  On 
the  threshold  of  the  shop  she  paused  and  flung  back  a 
quick  reassurance. 

"Don't  be  afraid.  I'll  never  betray  you !"  which  Miss 
Polly  Popple,  overhearing,  promptly  carried  to  the  awe- 
struck ears  of  Miss  Clara  Smithson. 

"There's  a  low-class  girl  just  been  in  the  showroom 
blackmailing  Miss  Pounce  and  gone  off  Heaving  knows 
with  how  much  hush-money!  'I  won't  betray  you,'  says 
she.  And  Miss  Pounce  looking  after  her,  that  distraught, 
you'd  think  she'd  seen  a  ghost." 

"Ah !  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Smithson.  "Retribution  is 
gathering  over  that  abandoned  creature's  head." 


CHAPTER  VII 

IN   WHICH  IS   MANIFEST   THE  HAND   OF   THE   SAINTED   JULIA 

H,  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  I  haven't  a  moment!     The 
most  dreadful  thing  has  happened !" 

Selina  Vereker  stood  before  the  astonished  Kitty.  She 
was  robed  for  Court  ceremonial  and  looked  a  very  splendid 
young  woman  in  brocaded  whites  and  silver  laces.  Her 
hair  was  full  dressed  and  spread  mightily  in  wings  and 
curls.  In  her  hand  she  held  a  posy  of  pink  roses.  But 
against  all  this  elegance  the  small  countenance  looked 
troubled;  it  was  indeed  contorted  like  that  of  a  child 
about  to  cry. 

"I  haven't  a  moment,"  she  repeated.  "The  Princess 
Augusta  expects  me  to  attend  her  to  the  Duchess  of 
Hampshire's  ball,  and  even  now  she  will  be  waiting  for 
me.  But  oh,  my  Lady,  oh,  my  Lady,  I  thought  I  must  run 
in  to  tell  you — Sir  Jasper  has  broken  with  me !" 

"Never  say  so,  child !  And  the  marriage  for  next  Mon- 
day as  ever  was !" 

My  Lady  Kilcroney  was  in  the  long,  narrow  parlor 
which  formed  part  of  her  set  of  rooms  in  St.  James's 
Palace.  She,  too,  was  in  full  fig:  a  marvel  of  glistening 
white,  with  the  fashionable  purple  trimmings  that  pro- 
claimed attachment  to  Royalty.  The  Bellairs  diamonds 
shone  on  her  throat  and  bodice,  and  diamonds  winked 
from  every  angle  of  her  piled  and  flying  curls.  At  the 
Maid-of-Honor's  words  she  shook  and  sparkled  and  quiv- 
ered in  all  her  finery,  looking  like  some  magic  tropical 
bird  spreading  out  wings  for  battle. 

152 


THE  HAND  OF  THE  SAINTED  JULIA 

"The  Princess  Augusta  is  waiting  for  me !"  cried  Selina 
and  sobbed. 

"Let  her  wait !"  quoth  Kitty  fiercely.  She  had  enough 
familiarity  with  the  Royals  now  to  appreciate  the  fact 
that  after  all  they  were  but  human  beings.  "What  has 
happened  ?  Sit  there  and  tell  me  this  moment.  Sir  Jasper 
break  off  his  engagement!  Some  fantastic  of  jealousy, 
sure.  The  man's  mad!  Why,  'tis  but  this  morning  you 
showed  me  that  wonderful  knot  of  brilliants  he  gave  you, 
child,  on  your  complaining  you  had  no  fancy  for  a  dead 
woman's  jewels." 

Selina  let  herself  fall  into  the  chair  indicated,  and  hid 
her  face  in  her  hands. 

"Oh,  the  disgrace !"  she  moaned. 

"It  shall  not  be,"  stormed  her  patroness.  "You've 
dropped  your  roses,  child." 

"What,  the  roses?  How — did  I  still  hold  them?  Oh, 
my  Lady,  the  roses,  'tis  they  undid  me !" 

"Your  roses  undid  you?  Talk  plain,  in  the  name  of 
common  sense." 

"The  roses  undid  me,  Madam,"  said  Lady  Selina,  lifting 
up  her  head  to  grind  her  teeth  at  Kitty,  as  that  lady  said 
afterwards,  for  all  the  world  like  her  little  Denis  at  ten 
months  old  with  the  double  ones  coming.  "How  should 
I  know  that  when  the  beautiful  pink  roses  arrived  they 
were  not  from  Sir  Jasper?  and  oh,  my  Lady,  he  came 
storming  into  my  parlor,  demanding  to  see  me,  and  I 
scarce  out  of  the  hands  of  Monsieur  Achille  and  going 
in  to  him  in  my  wrapper,  I  do  assure  you,  not  knowing 
what  prodigious  important  thing  he  had  to  say  to  me, 
and  he,  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  scarce  able  to  speak  with  the 
fierce  rage.  'The  roses,'  he  says,  'where  are  the  roses  you 
was  to  wear  to-night?'  And  there  they  were,  unpacked 

153 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


at  his  elbow  before  I  had  had  time  as  much  as  to  take  them 
in  my  hand.  As  I'm  a  living  woman,  as  I  hope  to  be 
saved,  my  Lady,  I,  all  innocence  1  'The  roses?'  says  I,  and 
he  falls  upon  them,  and,  oh,  to  think  of  it !  in  the  very 
middle  rose,  hidden  like  a  snake  in  the  grass,  was  a  billet. 
A  billet,  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  I  scarce  know  how  to  tell 
you — from " 

"Another  gentleman?"  screamed  Kitty,  jumping  to  the 
horrid  truth. 

"Some  stranger." 

"And  indeed  I  hope  so,  miss.  And  what  was  wrote  in 
it,  pray?" 

Selina  dropped  long,  white  eyelids  over  those  brilliant, 
curious  eyes  of  hers  which  never  seemed  to  corroborate  her 
lips,  and  drawing  an  immense  quivering  sigh,  the  corners 
of  the  same  pretty  lips  going  down  over  a  sob.  "Oh,  my 
Lady,  the  monstrous  audacity  of  it!"  she  cried.  "The 
creature  wrote — God  knows  who  he  can  be — '//  you  wear 
those  roses  to-night,  beauteous  Selina,  your  adorer  will 
know  that,  whatever  happens,  he  may  still  hope'* 

"  Ton  my  word !"  said  Kitty. 

"It  seems,  Sir  Jasper  had  had  an  anonymous  let- 
ter  " 

"Ha,"  interrupted  the  Queen's  Lady-in- Waiting.  "Now 
lift  up  your  head,  my  love.  'Tis  all  a  vile  plot.  An 
anonymous  letter,  say  you?  Why,  now  all  is  plain.  'Tis 
some  base  envious  creature — Heaven  knows  who !"  said 
Kitty.  "Some  old  flame,  some  wretch  who  wants  to  break 
the  marriage  for  abominable  designs  of  her  own.  Pshaw ! 
Was  there  ever  a  grosser  scheme?  'Twould  not  take  in 
a  mouse." 

"Sir  Jasper  will  not  listen  to  a  word  of  reason,"  com- 
plained the  bride  elect,  now  unveiling  the  fuvy  of  her  eyes. 

154 


"He  declares  that  there  was  guilt  on  my  face ;  that  he  had 
long  had  suspicions  of  me.  He  vows  I  have  been  cold  to 
him,  dearest  Lady  Kilcroney,  and  that  matters  must  have 
gone  very  far  between  me  and  my  lover — oh,  is  it  not 
monstrous  of  him? — before  any  one  would  have  dared 
address  me  in  such  familiar  words." 

"You  need  not  repeat  his  raving  to  me,"  cried  my  Lady 
Kilcroney  decidedly.  "Dry  your  eyes  now,  and  hasten  to 
your  duty.  Sir  Jasper  in  his  present  mood  may  very  well 
not  come  to  the  ball,  but  he  shall  render  an  account  of 
his  folly  in  this  very  room  to-morrow  morning,  and  if  the 
marriage  does  not  take  place  from  my  house  next  Monday 
as  arranged,  I  am  a  Dutchwoman,  as  complete  a  Dutch- 
woman as  Mrs.  Schwellenberg,  I  can  say  no  more.  And 
I  trust,"  said  Kitty,  soliloquizing  as  the  door  slammed  on 
the  Maid-of-Honor's  exit,  "and  I  trust  you  will  pay  Sir 
Jasper  back  for  this  evening's  work  in  good  ringing  coin, 
child,  once  you're  Lady  Selina  Standish.  As  I  have  no 
doubt  you  will,  my  love — cold-hearted,  capricious? — aye, 
he's  not  so  far  out  there — and  fiery-tempered  to  boot !  It 
will  give  me  a  vast  of  pleasure  to  see  such  a  buck  as  he 
proper  punished  and  tamed!" 

She  herself  began  the  process  with  considerable  con- 
scientiousness next  morning  in  that  interview  which  Sir 
Jasper  was  ready  enough  to  grant.  My  Lady  was  tired ; 
for  to  be  in  attendance  on  Royalty  was  to  make  of  a  ball 
more  of  a  fatigue  than  a  diversion.  She  was  anxious  too ; 
for  the  Queen  had  heard  that  it  was  Lady  Selina's  visit 
to  Lady  Kilcroney  which  had  resulted  in  the  Princess 
Augusta's  actually  being  kept  waiting;  and  had  shown 
displeasure  at  so  extraordinary  a  breach  of  etiquette. 

Kitty  had  no  explanation  to  offer.  She  would  have  died 
rather  than  hint  at  the  threatening  scandal.  So  consid- 

155 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


erable  peevishness  had  accumulated  to  fall  upon  the  de- 
voted head  of  Sir  Jasper. 

But  at  first  that  individual  was  beyond  feeling  anything 
save  his  own  anguish.  He  roared  like  a  wounded  bull ;  hit 
his  brow  till  the  powder  flew;  thumped  his  chest  till  his 
vocal  cords  reverberated;  paced  the  room,  declaiming  in 
one  breath  that  he  was  infamously  betrayed,  and  in  the 
next  that  'twas  a  just  retribution  for  perjury  to  the  best 
of  wives.  He  swore  that  his  heart  was  broken ;  never  had 
he  loved,  never  could  he  love  woman  as  he  loved  the  false, 
intriguing  Selina.  Then  he  declared  that  the  organ  in 
question  had  never  been  mended,  but  lay  in  fragments 
under  the  tombstone  sacred  to  Julia. 

It  was  only  when  his  passion  had  expended  itself  in 
exhaustion  that  my  Lady  was  able  to  make  herself  heard. 
Then  she  dissected  the  value  of  the  evidence  upon  which 
he  proposed  to  make  so  outrageous  a  step.  She  exposed 
the  folly  of  his  jealousy,  she  mocked  the  absurdity  of  the 
figure  he  cut. 

"You  have  now,"  she  said,  "lost  the  finest  young  lady 
in  the  kingdom.  You  were  about  to  contract  a  marriage 
altogether  beyond  what  a  man  of  your  position  and  birth 
could  hope  for.  You  a  middle-aged  widower,  of  no  par- 
ticular title — what's  a  baronet? — of  no  such  remarkable 
fortune,  with  certainly  no  good  looks  to  commend  you — 
you  were  about  to  espouse  the  loveliest  little  creature  in 
all  the  world,  the  Queen's  favorite,  scarce  eighteen — a 
beauty,  sir,  of  the  first  family!  And  on  some  kind  of 
monstrous  whimsey,  arising  from  your  own  bad  past — oh, 
of  that  I  am  quite  certain,  Sir  Jasper — you  have  cast 
away  this  flower,  and  you  have  cast  away  with  it  your  good 
name,  your  good  fame,  your  own  claim  to  be  a  gentleman ! 
Never  will  that  cake  be  eaten  for  your  wedding  with  Lady 

156 


THE  HAND  OF  THE  SAINTED  JULIA 

Selina  Vereker,  I  can  promise  you  that !  Oh,  she's  out  of 
conceit  with  you,  poor  child!  'Only  one  thing  I  beg  of 
you !'  she  says  to  me.  'Do  not  ask  me  to  look  at  him 
again,  for  I  never,  never  can !'  'Then  you  shall  not,'  says 
I.  I  uphold  her,  sir,  in  her  determination.  'You've  come 
out  of  this  business  with  flying  colors,  my  love,'  I  says, 
'and  the  Queen  shall  hear  the  whole  story.'  Fie,  Sir  Jas- 
per, how  you  bellow !  I  have  one  last  word  to  speak  to  you, 
sir,  aye,  indeed,  the  very  last  you  shall  ever  hear  from 
these  lips,  and  that  is  that  I  scarce  think  there's  a  gentle- 
man of  your  friends,  when  it  gets  about  the  clubs,  who 
would  deem  it  worth  his  honor  to  cross  swords  with  such 
as  you." 

She  made  a  great  flounce  of  silk  skirts  as  if  to  withdraw, 
but  he  was  down  on  his  knees  clutching  at  them;  to  do 
him  justice,  less  affected  by  her  threats  and  the  picture 
she  had  drawn  of  his  awful  position  than  by  the  realization 
that  he  had  lost  his  bride.  Never  had  Lady  Selina  ap- 
peared to  his  eyes  in  a  light  so  entrancing;  never  did  he 
so  clearly  perceive  the  worthlessness  of  his  existence  with- 
out her,  as  in  this  moment,  when  he  believed  he  had  lost 
her.  His  distress  was  so  genuine,  his  supplications  were 
so  heartrending,  that  Kitty  Kilcroney  could  not  but  let 
herself  be  mollified.  She  exacted  every  possible  pledge  of 
future  good  conduct,  she  obtained  the  completest  retrac- 
tation, the  most  abject  and  repeated  apologies  before  send- 
ing for  Selina. 

When  this  young  lady  appeared,  Sir  Jasper  was  put 
to  another  half  hour  of  torture  ere  he  was  readmitted  to 
favor;  and  even  then  the  bride  remained  cold  and  unre- 
sponsive, and  looked  with  a  hard  glitter  in  her  ryes  from 
one  to  the  other,  as  if  she  by  no  means  had  forgiven  her 

157 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


betrothed,  and  was  scarce  grateful  to  my  Lady  Kilcroney 
for  her  share  in  the  reconciliation. 

She  had  that  moment,  she  informed  him,  sent  the  parcel 
containing  Sir  Jasper's  presents,  including  the  betrothal 
ring,  by  a  trusted  hand  to  his  house;  she  vowed  she  con- 
sidered matters  vastly  well  as  they  stood;  both  would  yet 
repent  a  return  to  the  old  terms. 

Sir  Jasper  did  not  kneel  to  Selina.  He  behaved,  Kitty 
thought,  with  a  better  dignity  than  she  could  have  ex- 
pected and  also  more  intelligence.  He  promised  perfect 
confidence  in  the  future  and  a  rope  of  pearls ;  the  most 
tender  forbearance  in  all  difficulties  and  emerald  earrings ; 
the  unswerving  devotion  of  a  manly  heart  and  six  Cata- 
lonian  horses  to  the  finest  coach  woman  ever  drove  in.  He 
furthermore  volunteered  to  double  his  wife's  pin-money, 
and  altogether,  as  Lady  Kilcroney  informed  her  Denis 
afterwards,  made  a  more  graceful  leg  out  of  the  business 
than  could  have  been  imagined  from  the  gross  fashion  in 
which  he  had  cantered  in. 

Lady  Selina  at  length  allowed  an  inert  hand  to  lie  in  his 
clasp,  and  even  permitted  him  to  touch  an  averted  cheek 
in  token  of  her  pardon ;  and  it  was  an  extremely  chastened 
buck  that  wended  his  way  out  of  St.  James's  Palace  in 
the  direction  of  Bond  Street,  and  it  was  a  tremendous  sigh 
of  relief  that  my  Lady  Kilcroney  heaved. 

"Now,  child,"  quoth  she,  "as  Mr.  Shakespeare  hath  it, 
'All's  well  that  ends  well.'  But  do  not  make  the  mistake  of 
keeping  up  your  frigid  airs  too  long.  The  real  way  to 
treat  the  wretches  is  to  grant  a  little  from  time  to  time, 
and  demand  a  great  deal." 

"I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  I'm  sure,  ma'am,  for  your 
kind  interest,"  said  Lady  Selina,  and  dropped  her  white 
eyelids  over  her  audacious  cold  eyes. 

158 


THE  HAND  OF  THE  SAINTED  JULIA 

"There  has  been  another  elopement,"  wrote  Miss  Bur- 
ney,  the  Queen's  reader,  to  her  sister,  "and  you  would 
never  believe,  my  dearest  Susan,  who  and  in  what  circum- 
stances. Lady  Selina  Vereker  was,  you  know,  to  wed  Sir 
Jasper  Standish,  that  handsome  widower  (scarce  indeed  a 
year  widowed  of  his  poor  Julia;  men  are  strange  things! 
I  met  her  once,  she  was  a  very  elegant  woman).  Lady 
Selina  was,  as  I  say,  dear  Susan,  to  wed  Sir  Jasper  this 
actual  next  Monday,  and  my  Lady  Kilcroney  who,  as  you 
know,  hath  the  kind  of  good  nature  that  is  forever  inter- 
fering in  other  people's  affairs,  was  to  give  the  breakfast 
at  her  own  mansion  in  Hertford  Street.  'Twas  said  she 
made  the  match.  'Tis  quite  certain  she  recommended  tJie 
young  lady  at  Court.  She  must  be  vastly  sorry  on  both 
these  accounts  now.  Princess  Augusta  was  to  go  to  the 
wedding  (the  bride  being  her  own  Maid-of -Honor);  and 
altogether  it  is  an  odd,  unpleasant  business,  as  you  will 
hear.  Last  night,  then,  Lady  Selina  attended  the  Royals 
to  the  Opera  House.  'Twas  to  be  her  last  duty  of  the 
kind,  and  she  was  ablaze,  my  dear,  they  tell  me,  with  Sir 
Jasper's  jewels.  The  poor  man  was  infatuated.  I  cannot 
but  pity  him.  She  stood  behind  the  Princess  Augusta  in 
the  box  as  usual,  and  no  one  knows  the  exact  moment  of 
her  disappearance.  'Tis  positive  she  was  present  at  the 
beginning  of  the  third  act.  Then  all  attention  was  turned 
to  the  stage,  and  at  the  end  of  it  she  was  nowhere  to  be 
found!  Conceive  it,  my  dearest  Susan,  to  choose  such  a 
manner  and  such  company,  for  such  a  proceeding!  To  me 
it  is  beyond  imagination;  but,  from  the  letter  she  left  be- 
hind her,  there  can  be,  alas!  no  mistake.  The  young  gentle- 
man *or  whom  she  has  shown  her  preference  m  so  singular 
a  fashion,  is,  it  seems,  a  person  of  no  note  at  all,  a  mere 
officer  of  the  Marines,  by  name  Simpson,  with  scarce  any 

159 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


fortune  beside  his  pay.     The  whole  affair  leaves  one  in  a 
state  of  amaze,  and  I  verily  believe  the  world  is  going  mad" 

On  the  morning  following  the  fatal  evening  just  de- 
scribed, my  Lady  Kilcroney  was  awakened  from  very 
agreeable  slumbers  by  the  urgency  of  Miss  Lydia  Pounce, 
who,  placing  a  letter  on  the  bed,  begged  in  a  tone  so  im- 
portant that  her  Ladyship  should  wake  up  and  read  it  at 
once,  that  Kitty,  omitting  to  scold,  forthwith  proceeded 
to  obey. 

"Lady  Selina's  woman  also  brought  a  large  case,  my 
Lady.  I've  left  it  in  the  antechamber." 

Kitty  was  in  Hertford  Street,  making  ready  in  sweet 
security  for  the  wedding  festivities ;  yet  not  so  secure  but 
that  her  heart  misgave  her  from  the  first  moment  of  the 
matutinal  summons ;  it  hardly  needed  the  mention  of  Lady 
Selina's  name  to  confirm  her  instant  suspicions.  Yet  she 
was  ill  prepared,  as  she  herself  averred  to  all  and  sundry 
later,  for  such  a  revelation  of  mixed  baseness,  ingratitude 
and  idiocy. 

"You  have  taken  so  Jcind  an  interest  in  my  affairsf  my 
dear  Lady  Kilcroney"  wrote  the  Maid-of -Honor,  "that 
I  wish  you  to  be  the  first  to  hear  that  by  the  time  this 
reaches  you  I  shall  have  become  the  wife  of  Lieutenant 
Simpson  of  the  Royal  Marines.  'Tis  no  sort  of  match 
for  me,  I  am  well  aware,  but  I  prefer  him  so  infinitely  to 
Sir  Jasper  Standish  that,  seeing  no  other  way  out  of  it, 
I  have  yielded  to  his  solicitations.  You  may  perhaps  re- 
member that  when  we  were  with  Their  Majesties  at 
Brighton  last  month,  there  was  a  young  man  who  used  to 
stand  on  the  Parade  and  stare  as  we  went  by.  That  was 
Mr.  Simpson.  From  the  moment  I  had  accepted  Sir  Jas- 

160 


THE  HAND  OF  THE  SAINTED  JULIA 

per — and  indeed,  it  teas  scarce  fair  to  put  such  pressure 
on  me,  and  me  so  young — I  knew  I  had  made  a  great  mis- 
take. And  oh,  Heaven  knows,  how  1  tried  to  induce  him 
to  break  it  off!  When  I  haS  succeeded  at  last — for  'twas 
I  who  wrote  the  anonymous  letter  about  the  roses,  and 
'twas  I  placed  the  'billet-doux*  inside  the  rose  (I  still  think 
'twas  a  very  ingenious  trick),  if  it  had  not  been  for  you, 
all  wauld  have  gone  well.  iVo  one  would  have  blamed  me, 
as  you  told  Sir  Jasper  youmelf,  but  you  would  interfere, 
my  Lady,  and  you  brought  it  on  again.  And  now,  if  you 
please,  will  you  explain  matters  to  Sir  Jasper?  I  am 
sending  the  jewels  to  you  that  you  may  give  them  back. 
A  nd,  oh,  1  am  so  glad  to  be  free  of  him,  and  of  them,  and 
of  Court,  I  can't  tell  you!  Oh,  pray  ao  not  try  your  hand 
at  matchmaking  again,  my  Lady,  for  indeed  you  have  no 
talent  for  it. 

"Your  obedient  servant, 

"Selina  Soon-to-be-Simpson. 

"I  am  sorry  to  treat  my  fat,  good-natured  Royal  so. 
She  was  a  kind  piece.  But  'tis  a  vile  life." 

"And,  oh,  oh,  'tis  she  is  a  vile  piece!  Simpson!  Let 
her  be  Simpson  to  the  end  and  die  an  old  woman  !" 

Kitty  was  more  outraged,  more  incensed,  more  pro- 
foundly disturbed  than  she  had  ever  known  herself.  Why, 
indeed,  had  she  meddled  with  matchmaking,  and  who  would 
be  looked  on  coldly  over  such  scandal  at  Court,  but  she? 
all  innocence,  kind  heart  and  good  nature !  She  had  half 
a  mind  to  send  in  her  resignation  and  have  done  with  it. 

As  for  Sir  Jasper,  he  was  well  served,  for  an  odious, 
bullying,  stupid  fellow,  who  couldn't  make  himself  agree- 
able when  he  had  the  chance  of  his  life !  She  put  herself 
out  any  more  for  him?  She  expose  herself  to  the  un- 

161 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


pleasantness  of  breaking  the  news  to  him?  Not  Kitty, 
not  my  Lady  Kilcroney ! 

The  little  woman  made  up  her  mind  in  a  minute.  She 
would  go  out  of  town.  It  was  fine  April  weather.  Bath 
would  be  at  its  best.  She  preferred  it  out  of  the  season. 

She  would  pass  on  the  jilt's  letter  to  Sir  Jasper.  Lydia 
should  call  a  hackney  coach  and  go  round  with  it  and  the 
jewels  at  once. 

"And  I  shall  add  a  line,"  thought  Kitty,  "that  will  pre- 
vent him  from  coming  to  seek  sympathy  from  me !" 

"When  you  have  perused  tJie  letter  of  Lady  Selina,  by 
this  time  Simpson,  dear  Sir  Jasper,"  [she  wrote]  "perhaps 
you  will  feel  as  I  do  that  what  has  plucked  you  apart  has 
not  been  either  your  indelicate  behavior  or  tlie  young 
lady's  capriciousness,  but  the  hand  of  your  sainted  Julia." 

It  was  fortunate  that  there  was  no  one  in  the  room  to 
hear  the  awful  words  that  escaped  Sir  Jasper's  lips  when 
he  came  to  this.  What  fell  from  them  was  the  blasphemy : 
"Damn  Julia!" 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN  WHICH  A  WONDEBFUL  BIT  OF  LUCK   COMES   OUT  OF  MISS 

i 

POUNCE'S  BANDBOX  FOB  SOMEBODY  ELSE 

MISS  PAMELA  POUNCE,  having  inadvertently 
marred  a  most  desirable  alliance  and  incidentally 
assisted  a  mad  elopement,  told  herself  that  it  was  a  sad, 
tiresome  world  in  which  love  brought  trouble  to  high  and 
low  and  that  the  best  thing  a  woman  of  intelligence  could 
do,  was  to  put  such  stuff  out  of  her  head  and  be  grateful 
that  she  could  work. 

"Dear,  to  be  sure,"  Pamela  wondered,  "how  did  people 
get  along  at  all,  who  hadn't  some  honest  occupation  to 
keep  their  silly  minds  off  themselves?" 

'Twas  only  to  be.  expected  that  she  should  have  such 
fretful  faces  to  suit  with  heads  and  hats :  disappointed 
mothers  coming  to  complain  that  Miss's  toque  was  the 
wrong  shade  of  blue,  passionate  damsels  vowing  that  the 
very  sight  of  a  pink  rosette  made  them  sick. 

Pamela  could  read  "as  if  it  was  wrote  in  print,"  as  she 
said  herself,  the  fluctuations  of  many  an  amourette,  many 
a  well-laid  matrimonial  scheme.  Where  her  art  might  help 
she  was  ready  with  the  most  obliging  disinterestedness; 
when  failure  had  followed  on  her  best  efforts  she  took  the 
despite  of  her  disappointed  clients  with  the  utmost  phi- 
losophy. 

It  was  well  that  she  was  philosophic,  for  her  own  poor 
misplaced  romance  was  going  singularly  ill ;  so  ill,  indeed, 
that  it  might  be  said  to  have  dwindled  down  to  nothing 
at  all. 

163 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


After  his  tender  and  respectful  farewell  to  her  on  the 
night  of  Sir  Jasper  Standish's  Christmas  ball,  Pamela  had 
hardly  seen  anything  more  of  her  once  too  ardent  ad- 
mirer. She  told  herself  that  'twas  all  as  it  should  be;  he 
now  understood  the  kind  of  girl  she  was ;  and  his  present 
attitude  showed  more  true  affection  for  her  than  his  for- 
mer light-minded  persecution.  If  she  had  been  born  his 
equal,  or  if  she  had  not  been,  humble  as  she  was,  a  creature 
of  principle,  what  could  have  parted  them? — For  if  ever 
there  had  been  love 

Pamela  was  very  valiant,  and  kept  her  courage  up  with 
such  reflections.  And  she  found  considerable  distraction 
in  her  work,  and  quite  a  fund  of  consolation  in  the  in- 
creased success  which  it  was  bringing  to  her.  But  when 
events  enabled  her  to  coax  a  bit  of  happiness  to  some  one 
else,  through  the  witchery  of  her  talents,  it  was  more  real 
satisfaction  to  her  than  the  tot  of  the  weekly  accounts. 

"Hats  for  these  young  ladies,  Madam.    Yes,  Madam." 
"A  hat  for  this  young  lady,"  said  Lady  Amelia  Vibart 
severely. 

She  looked  disapprovingly  at  Miss  Pamela  Pounce.  She 
disapproved  on  principle  of  any  one  whom  she  considered 
her  inferior,  and  when  a  person  belonging  to  the  working 
classes  was  presuming  enough,  not  only  to  have  good  looks 
but  to  make  the  most  of  them,  Lady  Amelia  considered  it 
a  direct  attack  on  the  prerogatives  of  those  destined  by 
Providence  to  hold  a  higher  station.  Only  that  she  had 
been  recommended  to  Madame  Mirabel's  shop  as  the  one 
place,  positively,  in  the  whole  town  where  any  self-respect- 
ing woman  of  fashion  could  get  herself  a  hat  to  be  called 
a  mode,  she  would  have  walked  out  of  the  showroom  at 
the  mere  sight  of  this  creature,  so  tall  and  self-possessed, 

164 


LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

so  white  and  ruddy  clothed  in  garments  that  fitted  an  in- 
decently fine  figure  to  positively  scandalous  nicety;  a 
creature  who  moved  as  if  she  were  the  condescending 
party  and  carried  taper  hands  each  side  of  her  waist- 
ribbon,  not  exactly  akimbo,  but  with  an  air — yes,  in  very 
truth,  an  air  of  independence ! 

Miss  Pounce  looked  at  her  visitors  reflectively ;  a  high- 
nosed,  haughty,  short,  stout  lady,  flanked  on  either  side 
by  two  tall  daughters,  the  one  beautiful,  astoundingly  so, 
a  perfect  miracle  of  loveliness ;  and  the  other  plain.  No 
doubt  about  that,  pleasant,  bright-eyed,  witty-looking,  but 
plain. 

"A  hat  for  Miss,"  said  the  milliner,  her  glance  resting 
upon  the  less  favored  but  unmistakably  the  elder  damsel. 

The  high-nosed  lady  tossed  her  head. 

"Certainly  not,"  she  said  with  a  glare.  Here  she  pushed 
the  beauty  forward,  "For  this  young  lady." 

She  looked  around  for  a  chair,  let  herself  subside  on  a 
velvet  stool,  obsequiously  advanced  by  Polly  Popple,  and 
began  to  talk  very  volubly  and  pompously. 

"I  have  been  told  that  you  have  very  good  taste.  What 
can  you  suggest  for  my  daughter?  Perhaps  I  had  better 
tell  you  I  am  Lady  Amelia  Vibart.  The  Duchess  of 
Queensberry  has  recommended  you.  I  am  sure  that  I 
shall  find  that  you  deserve  her  kind  recommendation.  I 
trust  that  you  will.  It  is  not  my  custom  to  come  to  shops 
myself,  I  generally  expect  to  be  served  in  my  own  house, 

but  the  Duchess  advised  me This  is  Miss  Jane  Vibart. 

I  think  you  must  have  heard  of  Miss  Jane  Vibart." 

She  paused,  inflating  her  nostrils  and  fixing  an  oxlike 
stare  upon  the  young  woman,  who  really  seemed  quite  in- 
dependent. 

Pamela   turned   her   attentive    gaze   upon   Miss   Jane 

165 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Vibart.  It  was  perfectly  true  that  she  had  heard  of  her, 
for  there  was  a  great  deal  of  talk  in  the  particular  dis- 
tinguished circle  that  patronized  Madame  Mirabel  on  the 
subject  of  the  beautiful  Miss  Vibart.  Something  super- 
lative, overwhelming,  an  absolute  miracle,  she  was  pro- 
claimed to  be;  but  the  head  milliner  preferred  something 
with  a  little  more  life  and  mind  in  it,  herself.  She  be- 
trayed by  no  sign  that  she  recognized  the  overwhelming 
favor  and  opportunity  that  was  here  bestowed  upon  her, 
but  inclined  her  head  sideways,  after  the  most  elegant 
millinery  convention  and  said:  "Indeed,  Madam?  Cer-^ 
tainly,  my  Lady,"  as  if  these  were  any  ordinary  new 
customers. 

Lady  Amelia  snorted,  took  an  immense  breath  and  burst 
into  fresh  volubility  with,  if  possible,  an  increased  pom- 
pousness. 

"It  is  of  high  importance,  you  understand,  that  Miss 
Jane  Vibart  should  be  suited  in  the  finest  taste ;  I  must  i 
request  you  to  give  your  earnest  attention  to  the  matter. 
Stand  forward,  Jane,  have  I  not  already  told  you  to  stand 
forward?  And  you,  sit  down,  Sarah.  You're  in  every- 
body's way. — Now,  young  woman,  what  do  you  suggest? 
I  want  something  of  distinction ;  girlish,  you  understand, 
but  absolutely  elegant.  Every  one  will  be  looking  to  see 
what  Miss  Jane  Vibart  is  wearing.  "Tis  Miss  Jane 
Vibart's  first  appearance  upon  the  Windsor  Walk.  I 
think  it  will  be  very  good  business  for  you  if  you  suit  her. 
It  will  bring  you  a  great  many  orders.  I  trust  you  will 
consider  that,  young  woman,  and  represent  it  to  your 
employer." 

"Excuse  me,  your  Ladyship,"  said  Miss  Pounce,  when 
Lady  Amelia  stopped  for  want  of  breath,  "I  am  sure, 
speaking  for  Madame  Mirabel,  that  she  will  be  duly  con- 

166 


LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

scious  of  your  Ladyship's  kind  patronage,  which  we  shall 
do  our  best  to  deserve — Miss  Popple,  bring  me  the  prim- 
rose set,  if  you  please,"  and  as  the  assistant  sped  away, 
Pamela  looked  out  of  the  window  and  remarked  that  it 
was  a  fine  day.  Now  it  was  exactly  according  to  the  best 
tradition  of  shop  etiquette  that  the  customer's  attention 
should  be  respectfully  distracted  during  an  enforced  wait, 
by  some  polite  conversation;  and  indeed,  most  of  Miss 
Pounce's  ladies  had  a  good  deal  to  say  and  a  good  deal  to 
listen  to,  when  fortune  favored  them  with  a  quiet  moment 
in  Miss  Pounce's  company,  but  Lady  Amelia  gazed  upon 
the  milliner  with  an  arrogance  that  marked  her  repressive 
intention  and  then  turned  her  head  away  and  told  Sarah 
to  give  her  seat  to  Jane,  or  the  child  would  look  a  fright 
for  the  rout  to-night. 

"Dear  to  be  sure,"  thought  Miss  Pounce,  "to  see  that 
poor  piece  jump  up,  and  her  younger  sister  take  her  seat, 
all  as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world,  if 
that  don't  tell  a  tale!  I  wish  'twas  the  plain  one  I  had 
the  hatting  of,  I'd  get  some  credit  out  of  it.  Why,  if  you 
put  a  sunbonnet  on  the  beauty  there,  she'd  look  out  of 
it,  no  more  nor  less  than  the  same  handsome  doll. — You've 
dropped  your  mouchoir,  Miss." 

Pamela  handed  the  elder  Miss  Vibart  back  her  useful 
linen  handkerchief  with  a  movement  as  deferential  as  if  it 
had  been  the  finest  gossamer  and  Valenciennes;  and  that 
young  person  took  it  with  a  pleasant  smile,  blew  her  nose 
in  it  lustily  and  thrust  it  into  her  reticule,  no  whit  ashamed 
of  its  sensible  quality. 

"That's  the  girl  for  my  money,"  thought  the  observant 
shop  woman. 

What  a  world  in  miniature  was  this  showroom  of  hers ! 
Pamela  had  already  seen  many  a  comedy,  many  a  drama 

167 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


played  out  in  it.  Here  was  a  case  of  Cinderella  on  the 
wrong  sister.  A  shame  it  was  to  treat  a  nice  young  lady 
so,  because  she  happened  to  have  a  little  pug  nose,  and  a 
wide  mouth. 

"La!  Miss  Popple,  give  me  that.  (One  would  think 
you'd  had  to  go  to  Paris  for  it.)  And  straight  from 
Paris,  it  is,  my  Lady — and  all  the  trouble  in  the  world  to 
get  it  over,  things  being  far  from  settled — as  straight," 
said  Miss  Pounce,  turning  up  her  fine  eyes,  "as  any  confec- 
tion in  this  establishment.  The  newest  idea,  Madam.  Hat, 
robe  and  trimmings,  down  to  the  parasol  all  complete,  all 
in  harmony,  as  you  perceive.  The  ve-ry  lat-est  id-e-a," 
said  the  milliner,  dropping  her  syllables  one  by  one, 
spreading  the  flounces  and  frills  over  a  chair  and  poising 
the  hat  on  her  clenched  hand.  "Ex-qui-site,  that's  the 
word,  isn't  it,  Miss?  Oh,  it  will  become  either  of  your 
young  ladies  to  perfection.  The  embroidered  lawn,  very 
delicate,  very  girlish,  Madam.  Absolutely  correct  for  a 
young  lady  that's  a  debutante.  Not  white,  oh,  no,  your 
Ladyship,  cream.  Pull  up  the  blinds  over  there,  Miss  Pop- 
ple— Cream,  a  shade  deeper  than  ivory,  and  the  pale  green 
ribbons,  the  blond,  your  Ladyship  sees,  just  flung  over 
the  hat  and  fastened  with  this  bunch  of  primroses.  Did 
yoilr  Ladyship  ever  behold  anything  more  fanciful  and 
pretty?  I  would  not  put  a  bit  of  ribbon  or  set  another 
pin  into  that  hat,"  said  Miss  Pounce,  "not  if  you  was  to 
offer  me  a  thousand  pounds  to  do  it !  Oh,  Paris,  ma'am. 
Yes,  ma'am.  Hot  from  Paris,  if  one  can  use  such  a  word 
for  a  thing  so  cool  and  April-like.  Any  young  girl,"  said 
Miss  Pounce,  not  without  a  spice  of  malice,  "would  be 
noted  in  such  attire." 

"Oh,  Mamma,"  said  Jane.     It  was  the  first  time  she 
had  spoken.    She  was  gazing  at  her  reflection  in  the  mirror, 

168 


LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

crowned  by  the  wonderful  hat.  Her  voice  was  awe-struck, 
as  if  she  were  overwhelmed  by  the  sight  of  her  own  love- 
liness. 

Lady  Amelia  pursed  her  lips,  and  then  with  some  tart- 
ness bade  her  daughter  turn  round.  As  she  obeyed,  Miss 
Pounce  seized  the  vapory  gown  and  cunningly  held  it  up 
against  the  young  lady's  figure.  A  kind  of  maternal  greed 
obviously  struggled  with  prudence  in  Lady  Amelia's  heart. 
She  gaped  meltingly,  then  frowned,  put  her  finger  to 
her  lip. 

"Miss  could  try  them  all  on,"  insidiously  suggested 
Pamela  Pounce. 

"Oh,  Mamma,"  said  Miss  Jane  Vibart. 

"Oh,  Mamma,"  cried  her  sister.  "Jenny  looks  a  per- 
fect picture  in  that  hat  and  I'm  sure  the  dress  is  the  most 
lovely  thing  I've  ever  laid  eyes  on.  It  would  be  a  sin  and 
shame  not  to  get  them  for  her." 

But  Lady  Amelia  was  not  so  swiftly  moved  to  decision. 
The  garment  was  tried  on  and  the  beautiful  Jane  was 
turned  and  twisted  in  every  direction,  while  her  mother 
hummed  and  hawed  and  criticized. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  I  like  the  green  waist-ribbon,  no,  nor 
the  primroses,  neither,  mere  hedgerow  flowers.  A  nice  ar- 
tificial garden  rose  now  and  a  good  blue  taffety  sash." 

"Oh,  Mamma !"  protested  the  plain  Miss  Vibart  in  tones 
of  anguish. 

"I  couldn't  do  it,  your  Ladyship,"  said  Pamela  with  a 
slightly  heightened  color,  deftly  whisking  the  hat  from 
the  fair  head  and  motioning  her  underling  to  conduct  the 
patient  back  behind  the  screen. 

"It's  the  primrose  and  the  green — your  Ladyship  will 
excuse  me — that  makes  the  real  Parisian  elegance  of  this 
gown.  If  your  Ladyship  requires  ordinary  English  taste, 

169 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


there's  Madame  Flouncer's  in  Clarges  Street,  a  very  re- 
spectable firm,  very  respectable  indeed,  as  I've  heard  tell, 
where  your  Ladyship  would  find  herself  better  suited." 

"Upon  my  word,  young  woman!"  spluttered  Lady 
Amelia. 

"Yes,  you  may  toss  your  old  head  and  sniff  and  snort, 
my  Lady  Amelia,"  thought  the  shopwoman,  remaining  her- 
self quite  imperturbable,  save  for  that  deepening  color, 
"but  you'll  not  come  it  over  me  with  your  high  nose  and 
your  country  taste,  and  you  needn't  think  it." 

They  gazed  upon  each  other  steadily  for  nearly  a 
minute,  then  the  dowager's  glare  wavered. 

"It's  an  original  effect  of  color,  I'll  say  that,"  she  said 
weakly,  "and — does  that  parasol  go  with  it?" 

Miss  Pounce  took  up  the  minute  article  in  question, 
shook  out  the  fringe,  opened  it  and  held  it  gracefully  at 
divers  angles. 

"An  ivory  handle,  your  Ladyship  perceives,  cream  poult 
de  sole  of  the  first  quality,  the  sarcenet  lining  beautifully 
gathered,  isn't  it,  Miss?  a  deeper  shade  of  primrose,  so 
becoming  to  the  complexion,  and  such  a  background  for 
the  powder — really  as  never  was." 

"An  ivory  handle,"  said  Lady  Amelia,  pulling  a  long 
upper  lip,  "and  fringe  and  what  not!  Absurd  extrava- 
gance for  a  girl." 

"It  goes  with  the  whole  inspiration,  my  Lady.  A  cheap 
parasol  or  a  wrong  color  would — foh!  would  destroy 
it  all." 

After  which  Lady  Amelia  fell  to  haggling.  She  de- 
manded a  personal  interview  with  Madame  Mirabel.  She 
declared  that  the  advantage  to  the  firm  of  clothing  the 
beautiful  Miss  Jane  Vibart,  if  not  sufficient  compensation 

170 


LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

in  itself,  ought  to  make  a  considerable  difference  in  the 
charges  made. 

Miss  Pounce  regretted  that  Madame  Mirabel  was  not 
visible.  Madame  Mirabel  could  not  be  troubled  on  these 
matters.  She  who  spoke  was  solely  responsible  for  the 
department.  She  regretted  that  she  could  not  regard  the 
favor  of  clothing  Miss  Jane  Vibart  otherwise  than  as  a 
business  transaction.  What  was  the  price?  Nothing! 
Twenty-five  guineas — given  away !  Oh,  no,  my  Lady,  she 
did  not  think  she  could  use  up  a  square  of  her  Ladyship's 
old  Honiton  instead  of  the  blond.  No,  nor  make  it  twenty 
guineas  and  throw  in  the  parasol.  It  was  a  tremendous 
contest.  Lady  Amelia  haggled  with  a  zest  and  energy 
that  spoke  of  long  practice  and  an  actual  enjoyment  of 
the  process.  Miss  Pounce's  cheeks  were  flaming  when  the 
transaction  was  at  last  concluded  and  she  had  after  all 
gracefully  conceded  a  reduction  of  five  pounds. 

("And  let  it  be  a  lesson  to  you,  my  dear,"  she  said  to 
Miss  Popple  afterwards.  "And  when  you  see  a  customer 
come  in  with  that  kind  of  an  air  about  her,  put  it  up  to 
her  at  once.  What  was  the  set  marked  at,  Miss  Popple, 
dear?  Eighteen?  You  don't  say?  Well,  let  that  be  a 
lesson  to  you.") 

"And  do  you  want  nothing  for  Miss?"  inquired  the 
astute  milliner,  turning  with  a  kind  smile  to  the  plain  girl. 
"I've  a  positive  sweet  of  a  Tuscan  straw  with  cornflowers, 
and  a  blue  muslin.  It  would  suit  Miss  to  a  charm.  Very 
reasonable." 

Lady  Amelia,  one  stout  foot  poised  for  departure — she 
had  a  high  aristocratic  action  suited  to  her  nose,  paused. 

"Cheap  did  you  say?"  she  questioned. 

"Miss  Popple,  the  blue  muslin  and  the  assorted 
chapeau." 

171 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Lady  Amelia  gazed  through  her  eyeglass  and  Pamela 
rejoiced  to  see  that  she  hesitated.  Color  and  sparkle  had 
risen  to  the  plain  Miss  Vibart's  cheeks  and  the  flash  of 
joy  brought  out  all  kinds  of  beauties:  dimples,  and  tiny 
smile  waves  and  an  archness  in  the  curve  of  that  too  wide 
mouth  over  milk  white  teeth. 

"Chapeau  and  robe,"  she  said  emphatically,  "for  you, 
my  Lady,  since  your  Ladyship  has  already  so  generously 
patronized  us,  and  not  to  disappoint  the  young  lady,  eight 
guineas.  Pray,  Miss,  let  my  Lady  see  you  in  the  hat." 

Her  hands  lifted  to  her  country  straw,  Sarah  Vibart 
paused,  looked  at  her  mother  and  the  light  died  out  of 
her  eyes. 

"Jane,  you  will  want  another  gown,"  muttered  Lady 
Amelia.  "And  blue  was  always  your  color." 

"Oh,  Mamma,"  said  Jane,  with  a  smile  of  joy  that  made 
her  for  the  moment  quite  exasperatingly  lovely. 

It  was  that  smile  that  settled  her  in  Miss  Pounce's 
opinion. 

"Of  all  the  mean,  unnatural  girls!  'Tis  a  shame,  I 
call  it,  a  shame !"  thought  she. 

If  her  business  conscience  would  have  allowed  her,  she 
would  have  placed  the  Tuscan  on  the  beauty's  head  and 
contrived  to  give  the  curls  a  good  tweak  as  she  did  so. 
But  as  it  was,  she  masked  her  feelings  by  handing  the  gar- 
ments to  her  underling,  loftily  commanding:  "You  carry 
on  with  the  order,  Miss  Popple.  Regretting,  Madam,  I 
have  an  appointment";  and  sweeping  majestically  away. 

As  she  did  so,  she  in  turn  dropped  a  pocket  handker- 
chief, quite  a  dainty  little  article  with  an  embroidered  P 
and  a  delicate  edge  of  lace,  smelling,  too,  of  the  lavender 
with  which  the  Kentish  mother  kept  her  elegant  town 
daughter  liberally  supplied. 

172 


LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

The  plain  Miss  Vibart  made  a  plunge  and  picked  it  up. 

"Good  God,  Sarah!"  cried  Lady  Amelia,  the  exclama- 
tion jerked  out  of  her  by  a  proceeding  so  very  unbe- 
coming. 

"Thank  you,  Miss,"  said  Pamela,  looking  into  the  candid 
green  eyes,  that  refused  to  acknowledge  the  rising  tears. 
"I  hope  some  day  I'll  have  the  dressing  of  you,  and  'twill 
be  a  pleasure  and  privilege." 

"Jane,"  cried  her  mother  angrily,  "don't  stand  staring 
and  if  you  poke  like  that  I  might  as  well  throw  all  the 
money  into  the  sea!  Try  on  the  hat  this  minute,  and 
you  may  tell  Madame  Mirabel — you — you  young  woman — 
that  I  consider  it  very  impertinent  of  the  person  who  pre- 
sides over  the  department  to  go  away  like  this ;  a  vast  bit 
of  disrespect,  and  I've  half  a  mind  to  cancel  my  orders — 
Hold  your  tongue,  Jane !  I  would,  if  it  were  not  that  it 
might  hurt  the  Duchess's  feelings." 

In  spite  of  Lady  Amelia's  censure,  it  was  scarce  a  fort- 
night afterwards  when  a  very  small  page  boy  brought  a 
very  large  folded  sheet  to  Madame  Mirabel's  shop,  marked 
"Immediate,"  which  he  was  enjoined  to  deliver  straight 
into  the  hands  of  Miss  Pounce.  This  document  ordered 
with  equal  imperativeness  and  urgency  that  Madame  Mira- 
bel's principal  woman  should  instantly  proceed  to  6a  Queen 
Street,  bringing  a  selection  of  heads  suitable  for  Miss 
Jane  Vibart's  wear  that  night  at  the  masked  ball  at  Hamp- 
shire House.  "It  is  very  important  that  the  principal 
woman  should  come  HERSELF."  This  was  heavily  un- 
derlined. "Lady  Amelia  Vibart  must  insist  on  her  per- 
sonal attendance." 

"Hoighty-toighty,"  said  Miss  Pounce,  and  stood  look- 

173 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


ing  down  at  the  page  with  one  hand  on  her  hip,  eyelids 
drooping,  a  quizzical  smile,  and  a  tilted  chin. 

"And  how'd  it  be  if  I  can't  give  up  my  Duchesses  and 
Marchionesses  to  whom  I've  been  engaged  for  goodness 
gracious  knows  how  long? — There,  trot  along,  and  tell 
my  Lady  I'll  do  my  best,  seeing  she's  so  pressing! — Yes, 
yes.  I'll  come.  And  shut  your  mouth,  little  boy,  in  the 
name  of  Heaven,  or  you'll  be  picked  up  for  a  frog  and 
brought  to  the  Royal  Aquarium." 

Number  6a  Queen  Street  was  a  small  narrow  house 
wedged  in  between  two  larger  residences ;  one  of  those 
domiciles  that  seem  made  for  the  impecunious  fashionable. 
Miss  Pounce,  serenely  preceded  Madame  Mirabel's  liveried 
porter  who  negotiated  an  alarming  array  of  bandboxes, 
not  without  some  bumpings,  up  the  narrow  stairs,  in  the 
wake  of  the  country  footman.  On  the  second-floor  landing 
she  ordered  the  important  chattels  to  be  deposited;  and, 
bidding  the  porter  have  a  hackney  in  half  an  hour,  stood 
a  monument  of  composure  while  the  country  footman 
knocked  at  the  panels  of  the  door. 

There  was  a  clamor  within,  voices,  among  which  Lady 
Amelia's  didactic  tones  could  easily  be  distinguished:  ob- 
jurgations, lamentations,  sobs.  The  footman  invited  Miss 
Pounce  by  a  leer  to  share  the  joke,  knocked  louder  and  at 
an  exasperated  "Come  in,"  flung  open  the  door.  As 
Pamela  entered  the  long,  dingy  bedroom  a  silence  fell. 

The  beauty  was  sitting  in  an  armchair  by  the  empty 
fireplace,  her  face  buried  in  her  hands,  evidently  in  tears ; 
the  elder  sister  was  bending  over  her  with  a  countenance 
of  concern,  while  in  the  background  stood  a  frightened- 
looking  elderly  maid,  her  finger  to  her  lip. 

"Come  in,  come  in!"  repeated  Lady  Amelia,  bursting 
into  speech.  "Shut  the  door.  I'm  sorry  to  have  troubled 

174 


LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

you,  I'm  sure.  No.  I  don't  want  the  bandboxes.  Miss 
Jane  Vibart  cannot  possibly  go  out  to-night.  She  has 
most  successfully  contrived  to  make  such  a  spectacle  of 
herself  that  I  doubt  if  she  will  be  able  to  show  again  for 
the  rest  of  the  season." 

"Oh,  Mamma!"  exclaimed  the  elder  daughter  in  re- 
proachful accents.  "  'Tisn't  Jenny's  fault !" 

"You'll  not  say  it's  mine,  I  trust?"  retorted  a  deeply 
annoyed  parent ;  and,  as  the  beauty  lifted  her  face,  Pamela 
saw  that  it  was  indeed  disfigured  almost  out  of  recogni- 
tion by  that  distressing  if  not  alarming  complaint,  the 
toothache.  The  poor  girl's  left  cheek  was  swollen  to 
comicality. 

Jane  Vibart,  with  a  loud  boo-hoo,  buried  her  head  in 
her  handkerchief  again,  and  Sally,  with  a  championship 
which  Pamela  thought  the  younger  ill-deserved,  protested : 
"But  Mamma,  Mr.  Tugwell  hurt  her  so  dreadfully  last 
time,  that  poor  Jenny  was  terrified " 

"Foh!  I've  no  patience  with  her,"  stormed  the  lady. 
"She'll  have  to  have  it  out  now,  and  'twill  hurt  her  a  vast 
deal  more.  Provoking  creature  and  it  so  important,  so 
particularly  important  that  she  should  go  to-night.  Well, 
Miss,  if  you  lose  your  chance  of  the  match  of  the  year, 
you've  none  but  yourself  to  blame  and  let  that  be  a  com- 
fort to  you.  Pray,  young  woman,  did  you  not  hear  me 
say  I  should  not  require  your  goods?  Oh!  I  could  shed 
tears  of  vexation  and  it  all  so  neatly  planned!  The 
Duchess  herself  would  have  seen  that  you  took  the  floor 
with  Mr.  W.,  and  says  she  to  me:  'The  child  has  but  to 
unmask  at  supper  and  I  think  we  may  say  'tis  as  good  as 
done.'  Mr.  W.,  his  uncle's  heir,  and  such  a  personable 
worthy  young  man,  by  all  accounts  and  looking  to  be 
settled.  Well,  well!  Meeking,  take  Miss  Jane  to  her 

175 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


apartment  and  tell  Mrs.  Martha  to  apply  the  leeches. 
'Tis  time  for  me  to  be  dressing." 

Whether  rendered  irritable  by  pain,  or  overwhelmed  by 
Disappointment  at  the  probable  loss  of  Mr.  W.,  or  goaded 
by  the  thought  of  the  leeches,  certain  it  is  that  the  afflicted 
daughter  broke  out  with  a  passion  which  amazed  Miss 
Pounce  so  much  that  she  turned  on  the  threshold  to  stare 
and  perhaps  even  admire. 

The  beauty  declared  that  Mamma  was  a  nasty  unkind 
thing  and  that  she  herself  wished  she  was  dead. 

"Jane!"  cried  Lady  Amelia,  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 
"Sarah,  take  your  sister  away." 

Ere  the  sobbing  girl,  advancing  in  three  totters  and  a 
stop  to  gasp,  could  reach  the  door  Lady  Amelia  be- 
thought herself  of  a  fitting  punishment  which  spoke  vol- 
umes for  the  matron's  methods  of  education. 

"Your  sister  shall  go  in  your  place  to-night.  Yes,  Jane, 
not  another  word.  I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind.  Sarah, 
get  ready  to  accompany  me." 

Pamela  slipped  out  of  the  room  after  the  girls  and  was 
witness  on  the  landing  of  a  small  fraternal  scene  which 
confirmed  her  previous  opinion  of  the  lovely  Jane.  This 
aggrieved  maiden  first  nearly  fell  over  the  bandboxes ;  and 
then  was  seized  by  such  a  convulsion  of  rage  and  jealousy 
at  sight  of  them,  that,  shaking  herself  free  of  Sarah's  en- 
circling arm,  she  slapped  and  pinched  her  sister ;  and,  then 
at  Pamela's  horrified  interference,  dashed  up  the  staircase 
to  her  own  chamber. 

"  'Pon  my  word,"  thought  the  milliner,  "Mr.  W.  may 
have  had  the  escape  of  his  life !  A  doll  lined  with  a  vixen ! 
'Tis  the  most  dismal  combination.  Don't  cry,  Miss,"  she 
went  on  aloud,  as  Sarah  sniffed  into  her  useful  pocket 
handkerchief.  "Don't  cry,  there's  a  dear  young  lady! 

176 


LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

Let  me  come  in  your  room  with  you  and  see  what  I've  got 
in  these  boxes.  You  shall  look  nice  to-night,  or  my  name's 
not  Pamela  Pounce." 

Now  Sarah's  chamber  happened  to  be  a  narrow  slit  at 
the  back  of  her  mother's  apartment ;  for  of  course  Beauty 
had  to  be  well  lodged,  no  matter  how  pokily  plain  Miss 
Sarah  might  fare. 

Nipping  a  bunch  of  bandboxes  dexterously  in  each  hand, 
Pamela  bundled  after  the  astonished  Cinderella  into  her 
dingy  little  cell. 

"As  for  the  price,  Miss,  bless  you,"  she  whispered 
breathlessly,  with  her  back  against  the  door,  "you'll  pay 
me  when  you're  married."  Then  she  smacked  her  lips  as 
if  the  dish  of  her  choice  were  spread  before  her.  "I  don't 
know  when  I've  took  to  any  one  as  I've  took  to  you.  La ! 
We  must  have  candles  though,  your  window  giving  on  a 
shaft  as  I  see,  and  being  so  to  speak,  worse  than  none. 
But  I'd  rather  dress  a  lady  by  candlelight,  any  day  in  the 
year.  And  what  was  you  thinking  of  wearing,  Miss?" 

"Oh,  dear,  I'm  sure  I  don't  know !"  cried  Sarah.  "My 
muslins  are  dreadful  washed  out,  and  Mamma  said  I  must 
do  with  her  mauve  Tabby  made  over,  for  she  couldn't 
afford  to  dress  two " 

Here  there  came  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  Meeking,  the 
drab,  elderly  maid,  entered,  carrying  a  white  silk  brocade 
gown,  powdered  with  little  rosebuds. 

"My  Lady  says  you're  to  wear  this,  Miss  Sally,  and 
I'm  mortal  glad,"  added  the  woman,  dropping  her  voice 
and  looking,  as  if  for  support,  at  the  milliner,  "that  you 
should  come  to  your  rights  once  in  a  while ! — Too  bad  the 
way  this  pore  young  lady's  put  upon,  Miss.  There !  I've 
said  it  now,  and  I'm  glad  of  it.  Her  Ladyship's  just  given 
me  notice.  I  wish  I  could  dress  you,  Miss  Sally,  I  do 

177 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


indeed,  but  I've  got  to  go  back  to  your  Mamma  this  in- 
stant minute." 

"Don't  you  put  yourself  out,  ma'am,"  cried  Miss  Pounce 
sweetly.  "I'll  help  your  young  lady  with  all  the  pleasure 
in  life!  I  was  just  about  to  show  her  the  heads  I  brought 
on  approval." 

"Ah!"  said  the  Abigail  darkly  as  she  withdrew. 
"There's  heads  enough  in  this  house  to-night  and  that's 
the  truth !" 

"I  hardly  like,  though,"  exclaimed  Sarah,  "to  wear  poor 
Jenny's  clothes." 

"Why,  you're  a  sweet  creature!"  The  milliner  shook 
out  the  glistening  folds.  "  'Twill  suit  you,  Miss " 

"Oh,  my  ugly  face !" 

"Ugly!  As  far  as  that  comes  to,  Miss  Vibart,  there's 
ugly  beauties  and  there's  charming — well,  charming  ugli- 
nesses, since  that's  your  own  word.  I'd  never  call  a  lady 
ugly  who'd  so  fine  a  figure,  and  so  bright  an  eye  and  if 
your  mouth  is  a  bit  wide,  Miss,  sure  your  teeth  are  a  pic- 
ture ;  and  if  your  nose  is  a  trifle  snub,  there's  something  so 
merry  and  arch  in  the  way  it  cocks  when  you  smile,  that 
I  for  one  would  not  have  you  different.  I  vow  I  would 
not!" 

Pamela  was  in  the  act  of  passing  the  Beauty's  fine  gown 
over  Cinderella's  shoulders,  and  as  she  twitched  it  into 
place  she  proceeded  with  fresh  energy. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Miss,  is  that  you've  been 
so  set  aside  that  you're  afraid  to  smile  and  be  merry.  Let 
yourself  go  to-night,  and  you'll  see 

"Why,  'twill  be  right  enough,"  said  Sarah  ruefully,  "so 
long  as  I'm  masked — all  the  dancing  ladies  are  to  be 
masked,  you  know.  I'm  not  afraid  but  I  can  hold  my  own 
then.  'Tis  the  thought  that  all  the  while  people  are  look- 

178 


LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

ing  at  me  they're  saying  'poor  girl,'  and  comparing  me 
with  sister.  However  I  may  get  on  with  my  partner  at 
the  rout  to-night,  the  moment  I  take  off  my  mask " 

"Now  don't  go  for  to  say  that,  Miss!  You  haven't 
seen  the  head  I've  got  in  this  bandbox.  One  would  think," 
cried  the  milliner  enthusiastically,  "that  your  good  angel 
had  inspired  me,  for  I've  got  here  the  very  mode  to  match 
Miss  Jane's  brocade  and  to  suit  you.  Well,  there!  there 
won't  be  no  gentleman  at  the  ball  to-night,  wishing  you 
was  your  sister.  I'll  take  my  oath  o'  that." 

And  indeed,  when  some  twenty  minutes  later,  the  plain 
Miss  Vibart  contemplated  her  image  in  the  glass,  she  con- 
ceded that  she  might  very  well  hold  her  own.  By  a  couple 
of  twists  of  clever  fingers,  Pamela  Pounce  had  contrived 
to  loosen  and  display  her  curls  to  an  advantage  hitherto 
undreamed  of.  When  a  hairdresser  was  called  in,  his 
services  were  not  wasted  on  Sarah.  And  the  head;  what 
an  exquisite  indescribable  trifle  and  how  becoming!  The 
twist  of  silver  tissue  as  light  as  the  most  delicate  cloud, 
the  single  hint  of  blue  and  the  one  full  pink  rose !  It  lent 
an  ethereal  aspect  to  the  flying  curls  of  powdered  hair; 
Sarah's  small,  round  face  took  a  something  elfin,  and,  as 
she  smiled  at  herself,  roguish,  that  made  the  milliner  clap 
her  hands  and  vow  that  she  was  delicious  and  that  her  own 
anticipations  were  far  exceeded. 

Sarah  turned  and  hugged  her  unexpected  friend  before 
obeying  her  mother's  call. 

"I'll  come  round  to  Madame  Mirabel's  in  the  morning 
and  tell  you  all  about  it.  See  if  I  don't." 

Miss  Sarah  Vibart  looked  so  modest  and  inconspicuous 
as  she  slipped  into  Madame  Mirabel's  hat  shop  on  the 
thundery  June  morning  after  the  Masked  Rout  at  Hamp- 

179 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


shire  House,  that  Miss  Popple  deemed  it  not  worth  her 
while  to  inquire  what  her  pleasure  might  be. 

"Foh !"  thought  Polly.  "Some  poor  country  cousin  on 
the  spy  for  fashion,"  for  no  one  can  be  so  haughty  as  the 
young  person  who  caters  for  the  high  and  mighty. 

What  was  her  surprise  to  see  the  head  milliner  conclude 
the  affairs  of  a  most  important  dowager  in  perfunctory 
haste,  with  a  peremptory,  "Door,  Miss  Quigly,"  and  ad- 
vance the  most  urgent  courtesy  to  the  customer  in  the 
plain  print  gown,  with  the  unmistakable  home-trimmed 
hat  and  the  not-at-all-pretty  face  underneath  it ! 

"Step  with  me  into  the  dressing-room,  Miss  Vibart. 
I've  got  your  matinee  ready  to  fit  on,"  said  Pamela,  with 
a  knowing  wink. 

And  when  the  two  found  themselves  together  in  the  little 
screened-off  apartment  with  the  big  mirror,  Miss  Pounce 
scanned  her  companion's  face  with  the  most  searching 
anxiety.  There  was  something  in  that  face  that  had  not 
been  there  before,  an  emotion  between  trembling  joy  and 
crucial  doubt,  a  color  that  fluctuated,  a  vague  and  veiled 
glance,  and  a  smile  that  wavered. 

"Well,  Miss?"  panted  Pamela,  as  the  girl,  letting  herself 
fall  into  a  chair,  seemed  to  float  away  on  a  dream :  "Well, 
Miss,  how  did  you  enjoy  yourself.  Wasn't  my  head 
the  prettiest  there  by  a  long  way?  I  don't  think  the 
Duchess  herself  had  such  a  bit  of  real  art,  and  I  ought  to 
know!  I'm  sure,  if  you  only  looked  as  you  did  upstairs 
in  that  little  room  when  you  took  off  your  mask " 

"Oh,  you  dear  kind  thing,  I  never  took  off  my  mask 
at  all." 

"What,  Miss?" 

"Oh,  I  couldn't!" 

"Of  all  the  pities!  There,  I  might  as  well  have  spared 

180 


LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

my  trouble,  I  see.  There  ain't  a  mite  of  use  in  trying  to 
help  those  that  won't  help  themselves,  that's  flat !" 

"Nay,  pray,  pray  don't  be  vexed  with  me!  You've 
been  such  a  friend  to  me !  You're  the  only  friend  I  have ! 
Oh,  I  must  tell  you!  There's  no  one  in  the  world  I  can 
tell." 

There  was  such  real  distress  in  the  girl's  whole  air,  and 
at  the  same  time,  some  pathetic  hope  that  seemed  to  cast 
a  pale  beam  across  her  trouble  like  sunshine  on  a  gloomy 
day,  that  Pamela  swallowed  down  her  natural  irritation 
and  began  to  feel,  moreover,  that  her  efforts  might  prove 
to  have  been  not  so  altogether  wasted  after  all.  More 
than  this,  how  could  she  fail  to  be  touched  by  the  appeal : 
"You  are  my  only  friend."  Flattered,  too,  considering— 
and  Pamela  was  far  too  sensible  not  to  consider  the  differ- 
ence in  their  station. 

"Oh,"  cried  the  plain  Miss  Vibart,  as  if  the  gentle  look 
the  milliner  cast  on  her  had  been  a  Moses  wand  and  the 
spring  gushed  forth  under  its  touch.  "Oh,  pity!  Oh, 
why  am  I  not  beautiful,  like  Jane?  I  never  envied  her 
before — never,  never ! — but  oh,  why  did  I  go  to  the  party 
at  all?  If  I  hadn't  known  him  first,  if  he  had  not  been 
so  wonderful  kind  and  clever  and  charming  and  loving  to 
talk  to  me,  and  understanding  me  so — oh,  oh,  and  so 
handsome !  Oh,  I'd  never  have  known  what  he  was  if  Jane 
had  had  him  first !" 

"There,  don't  cry,  you  poor  thing!  Why,  now,  you 
said  you'd  tell  me  about  it,  Miss,  and  I'm  sure,  I  think  it 
uncommon  pleasant  of  you,  Miss,  and  I'd  never  take  ad- 
vantage— no!  'Twill  be  as  sacred,  as  sacred,  no!  not  if 
I  was  to  be  drawn  and  quartered !  But  there,  Miss,  why, 
how  do  you  know  'tisn't  all  going  to  end  lovely?  How  do 

181 


you  know  the  gentleman  isn't  like  me  and  wouldn't  rather 
have  you  than  the  beauty,  fifty  thousand  times?" 

Here  came  such  a  lifting  of  swimming  eyes,  such  a  timid 
smile  that  Pamela  thought  she,  for  one,  never  wanted  to 
see  anything  sweeter  than  the  face  of  the  plain  Miss 
Vibart. 

And  after  that  the  confidences  came,  broken,  halting, 
but  explicit  enough  for  such  quick  wits  as  those  of  Madame 
Mirabel's  head  woman.  How  Sarah  had  followed  her 
mother,  with  a  higher  heart  than  she  had  ever  carried  in 
her  bosom  to  any  entertainment,  into  the  great,  splendid 
ballroom  of  Hampshire  House,  safe  under  her  mask;  and 
they  had  scarce  been  there  a  five  minutes  when  up  comes 
the  Duchess  of  Queensberry  in  a  great  fuss,  followed  by 
a  tall  young  gentleman,  and  she  says  to  Mamma,  for  the 
Duchess  is  Mamma's  cousin  by  marriage  and  has  remem- 
bered the  relationship  since  Jane  came  out,  "  'for  Jane,' 
she  says,  'is  the  most  beautiful  creature  in  the  world,'  and, 
so  she  is,"  cried  the  loyal  sister,  breaking  off  her  narrative 
with  a  trembling  lip. 

"  'Tis  the  young  gentleman's  looks  I  want  to  hear 
about,"  Miss  Pounce  interpolated  skillfully.  "Mr.  W.  I 
suppose?  Him  your  lady  Mamma  was  alluding  to." 

"Mr.  W.  it  was,  Mr.  Walsingham.  And  oh,  he's  a  per- 
son of  great  consequence,  for  he's  the  nephew  and  heir  of 
the  old  Marquis  of  Harborough,  him  that  succeeded  his 
brother,  you  know,  and  none  of  them  ever  married.  And 
oh,  dear,  my  dear  friend — your  name's  Pounce,  isn't  it? 
I'd  rather  call  you  by  your  Christian  name  if  you  don't 
mind.  Pamela?  Oh,  I  like  that.  Dear  Pamela,  I  thought 
when  the  Duchess  introduced  him  and  he  bowed  and  smiled 
I'd  never  seen  anything  so  agreeable,  nor  so  well  looking. 
With  such  straight  and  honest  eyes  and  so  kind  a  smile. 

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LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

And  the  Duchess  was  in  such  a  fuss,  as  I  told  you,  she 
wouldn't  listen  to  Mamma  who  wanted  to  explain  about 
Jane,  and  I  think  she's  a  little  deaf  too.  'Here,  Edward,' 
she  cries,  *here's  Miss  Vibart,  what  I've  told  you  of  and 
you'd  better  engage  her  at  once,  for  once  it  gets  about 
what  face  is  behind  that  mask,  there'll  be  twenty  clamoring 
for  her.  Oh,  you're  a  lucky  dog,'  says  she — that's  the 
way  she  speaks,  and  I  think  it's  rather  gross,  but  Mamma 
won't  have  it,  because  she's  a  duchess — 'oh,  you're  a  lucky 
dog,'  she  cries,  'and  there  won't  be  a  buck  in  the  room  that 
won't  want  your  blood  when  midnight  comes  and  that  face 
is  revealed.' " 

"Dear,  to  be  sure,"  said  Pamela,  with  a  sucking  breath. 
"And  do  you  think  Mr.  W. — I  can't  help  it,  Miss,  I  shall 
always  call  him  that:  'tis  so  mysterious  like — didn't  hear 
what  your  Mamma  tried  to  tell  the  Duchess?  Did  he  take 
you  for  your  sister  straight  off?" 

An  overwhelming  blush  spread  over  the  plain  Miss 
Vibart's  face. 

"Oh,  Pamela  Pounce,"  she  cried,  "  'twas  very  silly  and 
cowardly  of  me,  but  I  didn't  want  him  to  find  out.  I 
thought  for  once  I'd  know,  even  on  false  pretenses,  what 
it  means  to  be  admired  and  courted.  And  oh,  my  dear 
creature,  yes,  I'll  be  truthful.  I  liked  him  so  much  from 
the  very  first  that  I  couldn't,  I  couldn't  make  up  my  mind 
to  his  going  away  and  leaving  me." 

In  the  pause  which  ensued,  the  milliner  discreetly  waited 
while  last  night's  heroine  once  again  fell  into  a  retrospec- 
tive muse.  Suddenly  the  girl  broke  out. 

"  'Twas  the  strangest  thing !  Our  tastes  met  at  every 
point.  'Never  think,  sir,'  cries  I  to  him,  'to  find  me  enter- 
taining company,  for  I'm  the  veriest  country  mouse ' 

'Country!'  cries  he,  'Madam,  there's  no  life  for  any  one 

183 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


but  in  the  country,  to  my  mind.  This  town  existence,  what 
is  it?  How  can  any  one  but  an  idiot  substitute  the  fresh 
air  and  the  green  fields  and  the  fine  views  and  the  whole- 
some activities,  the  pleasant  neighborly  intercourse,  for 
this  inane  round  of  dissipations  in  the  atmosphere  of 
smoke,  the  hideous  confinement  of  brick  and  mortar  and 
the  feverish  intercourse  with  strangers  between  people 
who  can  have  naught  in  common  and  as  like  as  not  can 
never  meet  again?" 

"La,"  cried  Pamela,  "how  you  remember  it  all,  Miss! 
And  sure,  to  my  mind,  'twas  scarce  an  auspicious  open- 
ing." 

"Nay,  but  it  was,  for  it  set  me  off  laughing.  'And,' 
cries  I,  'an  idiot  and  inane!  You're  vastly  obliging,  sir, 
but,  pray,  remember  that  I,  at  least,  am  subject  to  au- 
thority.' 'And  so  am  I,  Madam,'  cried  he,  '  'tis  by  my 
uncle's  orders  that  I  am  in  the  town,  so  you  and  I  may 
perhaps  call  ourselves  the  only  sane  people  in  a  room  full 
of  vapidity.  And  such  being  the  case,'  he  went  on,  'you 
will  allow  me  to  add  most  respectfully  that  we  scarce  meet 
altogether  as  strangers,  and  that  I  trust  our  first  meeting 
may  not  be  the  last.' ' 

The  milliner  gave  a  whistle. 

"Quick  work !"  quoth  she,  "a'most  like  putting  on  the 
feathers  before  the  straw  is  stitched  together." 

"Oh,  nay  indeed !"  cried  the  other  again,  "we  were  sctne- 
how  so  comfortably  at  home  with  each  other  from  the 
first !  And  after  we  had  danced  a  minuet — it  is  not  van- 
ity on  my  part  to  say  that  I  can  dance  and  that  better 
than  dear  Jane,  though  to  be  sure,  it  scarce  matters  how 
she  steps  for  none  will  look  but  at  her  face — we  got  on 
amazing  in  the  figures,  and  afterwards  better  still  in  the 
talk  we  had  together.  Never  was  there  such  harmony  of 

184 


LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

taste,  I  do  assure  you.  I  told  him  how  vastly  I  preferred 
the  country  gentleman  to  the  town  fop  and  he  told  me 
the  town  young  lady  could  never  hold  a  candle  to  the  fresh 
country  creature  that  would  be  up  betimes  in  the  dairy, 
and  still  room.  And  oh,  a  dairy  is  all  my  joy,  and  as  to 
a  still  room,  why,  I  scarce  know  how  the  time  flies,  once 
I'm  in  ours !  Our  housekeeper  is  very  old,  and  Mamma  is 
very  kind  and  lets  me  help  her.  And  there's  no  butter 
half  so  good  as  mine  in  the  county,  and  the  dear  cows,  I 
love  the  very  sight  of  them.  Aye  and  I  can  milk,  too! 
And  there's  not  a  herb  in  the  garden  I  don't  know  the  use 
of.  And " 

"Why,  Miss,"  said  the  milliner,  amused,  "what  a  mis- 
tress you'll  be  of  a  country  house  of  your  own,  one  of 
these  days !" 

"Why,  that's  what  he  said !" 

"Did  he  indeed?"    Pamela  laughed  out  loud. 

"Nay,  but,"  the  girl's  face,  which  had  been  wonderfully 
brightened,  fell,  "you  must  remember  he  thought  I  was 
the  beauty  all  the  time !  He  has  heard  about  Jane.  'Tis 
quite  clear.  He  is  in  love  with  her  without  ever  having 
seen  her  and  that  was  why  the  more  charming,  the  more 
ardent,  respectfully  ardent,  he  was,  the  more  my  heart 
sank.  Though  indeed  I  do  think  our  minds  were  in  sym- 
pathy, and,  to  be  sure,  sister  scarce  knows  rhubarb  from 
angelica,  or  cream  cheese  from  curds." 

"Ah,  if  I'd  been  you,"  said  Pamela  Pounce  with  fire, 
"I'd  have  pulled  my  mask  off,  Miss,  and  faced  him  and 
said,  'By  your  tongue  you're  a  man  of  sense,  show  your- 
self one  by  your  eyes.' ' 

"Oh,  you  may  talk,"  Sarah  cast  a  desperate  upward 
glance  at  the  kindling  face,  "you  that's  so  handsome! 
Little  you  know  what  it  is  to  feel  plain.  'Tis  as  I  have 

185 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


told  you,  I  couldn't — aye,  that's  the  word ! — face  it.  And 
so  I  slipped  from  him,  even  as  all  the  assembly  was  sum- 
moned to  the  supper  room,  and  hid  myself.  And  oh!" 
cried  Sarah,  between  laughing  and  crying,  "when  Mamma 
found  me  at  last,  sitting  with  the  maids  among  the  cloaks, 
she  was  very  angry  first.  'And  where  have  you  been?' 
cries  she.  'The  Duchess  and  Mr.  W.  have  been  looking 
for  you  everywhere.  Mr.  Walsingham's  mad  after  you, 
child,'  and  oh,"  here  Sarah  sobbed,  "she  was  most  angry 
because  she  thought  he  had  liked  me  too  much.  And  when 
I  told  her  he  took  me  for  sister.  'Why,'  said  she,  'put  on 
your  mask  this  minute,  Miss.  And  I  forbid  you  ever  to 
let  on  that  you  took  Jane's  place.  He  told  the  Duchess 
that  you're  the  most  intelligent  young  woman,  that  your 
mind  and  your  principles  are  all  he  could  desire — believing 
you  to  be  Jane  of  course.  Things  could  not  be  better! 
His  intentions  are  most  serious !'  And  now,"  cried  Sarah, 
drying  her  eyes  desperately,  "sister's  had  her  tooth  out 
this  morning  and  the  apothecary  says  in  a  week  there'll 
be  nothing  to  show  for  it.  And  though  there's  been  a 
message  from  the  Duchess  to  say  Mr.  W.  wished  to  call 
to-day,  Mamma  has  wrote  back  that  Jane  has  taken  a  cold 
at  the  masked  ball  and  must  keep  her  room  for  a  few  days. 
But  oh,  Pamela,  when  he  comes  and  looks  upon  her — why, 
you  can  guess  how  it  will  be !" 

"  'Tis  a  monstrous  shame,"  the  partisan  exclaimed,  "I 
wouldn't  put  up  with  it,  Miss !  And  all  the  time  'tis  you 
yourself  he'll  think  he's  getting.  You  ought  to  up  and 
tell  him  straight  and  let  him  make  his  choice." 

But  Sarah,  pulling  on  her  shabby  gloves  and  drawing 
her  hat  over  her  red  eyes,  shook  her  head.  "I  couldn't  do 
that,"  said  she.  "Mamma  says  if  I  breathe  a  word  'twill 

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LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

be  the  basest  treachery  to  sister.  And  she'll  keep  me  out 
of  the  way,"  she  added  under  her  breath. 

The  girl  then  flung  her  arms  round  the  milliner's  neck. 
Sarah  was  indeed  sadly  lacking  in  propriety. 

"I'll  send  back  your  head.  'Tis  as  fresh  as  ever.  And 
thank  you  a  million  times.  At  least  I've  had  a  peep  into 
happiness." 

It  was  quite  ten  days  later,  when  Pamela  Pounce  re- 
ceived an  urgent  message  from  Miss  Vibart  to  come  and 
see  her  after  closing  hours. 

"Mamma  and  Jane  are  going  out  and  I  shall  be  quite 
alone.  Do  come,  I  have  something  so  strange  to  tell  you" 

Miss  Pounce  did  not  need  to  be  bidden  twice  to  such  an 
appointment.  Her  warm  heart  had  been  considerably  pre- 
occupied on  the  subject  of  the  plain  Miss  Vibart's  affairs. 

She  was  shown  in,  not  to  the  fireless  dark  slit  of  a  room 
overlooking  the  shaft,  but  to  quite  a  comfortable  small 
bedroom  on  the  street.  Sarah  in  an  elegant  white  muslin 
wrapper,  sprang  up  from  her  writing  table  to  embrace 
her  friend. 

"Yes,  yes,  look  at  me !"  she  cried.  "I  ain't  ashamed 
of  my  face  to-day.  Indeed  I  quite  love  it.  Oh,  I've  just 
been  writing  to  all  the  dear  old  people  at  home,  my  blessed 
old  nurse  and  Mrs.  Comfit — that's  our  good  housekeeper — 
to  tell  them — to  tell  them  my  great  news !  Oh,  Pamela, 
I  wanted  to  tell  it  by  degrees  and  surprise  you  but  I  can't. 
'Twill  out !  It  is  me  he  wants." 

"Mr.  W.?" 

"My  own  dear  darling  Edward  Walsingham,  who  else? 
Oh,  was  there  ever  such  a  lucky  girl?  Oh,  Pamela !  Here, 

187 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


sit  beside  me.  Let  me  hold  your  hand.  Let  me  hold  your 
hand,  your  warm  dear  hand  that  lifted  me  up,  when  I  was, 
oh,  in  such  a  fit  of  despond !" 

The  two  sat  together  on  the  maiden  bed,  and  Pamela 
began  to  cry,  as  women  will,  over  the  tender  emotions  of 
the  moment. 

"I'm  as  glad,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "as  glad  as  if  you'd 
given  me  a  hundred  thousand  pounds.  Gladder !  And 
how  did  it  come  to  pass?"  She  drew  her  sucking  breath  of 
delighted  anticipation. 

"This  morning,  then — oh,  when  I  think  it  was  only  this 
morning! — Sister  being  quite  unswollen  and  looking  love- 
lier than  ever,  Mamma  put  her  into  the  blue  muslin — your 
blue  muslin,  you  remember  it? — and  made  Meeking  do  her 
hair  in  a  new  way  with  a  black  ribbon  bow  at  the  back 
and  little  curls,  like  the  Duchess  of  Devonshire,  and  oh, 
sister  did  look  lovely!  And  just  as  she  was  ready,  up 
comes  Joe  Footman  to  say  the  Duchess  of  Queensberry 
and  Mr.  Walsingham  was  in  the  withdrawing-room.  And 
mamma  takes  sister  by  the  hand  and  'Come,  child,'  says 
she.  'And  if  you  poke  when  you  come  into  the  room  I'll 
slap  you.'  (Sister  does  poke  sometimes,  you  know.)  And 
off  they  go,  without  so  much  as  a  look  at  me.  I'd  been 
helping  to  dress  sister,  you  see,  holding  the  hairpins  and 
that.  And  there  was  I  in  my  old  frumpy  gown  and  I 
just  looked  at  myself  in  the  glass  and  I  thought:  'You 
plain  thing,  how  dare  you  be  jealous  of  beauty  and  your 
own  sister,  too  !'  And  if  you  cry,  you  silly  creature,  you'll 
only  make  yourself  plainer,  so  what's  the  good  of  that !' 
And  I  wouldn't  cry,  dear.  I  picked  up  sister's  clothes 
and  was  putting  them  away,  trying  not  to  think.  Oh! 
trying  so  hard  not  to  think — of  him  downstairs,  looking 
worship  at  Jane,  when  all  at  once  up  comes  Joe  Footman 

188 


LUCK  OUT  OF  THE  BANDBOX 

again.  'And  you're  to  come  down,  Miss,  you're  to  come 
down  this  minute  to  the  drawing-room.  Her  Ladyship  has 
sent  for  you.'  And  oh,  you'll  never  believe  the  dreadful 
thought  that  came  into  my  head  and  haw  near  I  was  say- 
ing I  would  not  obey  Mamma,  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  I 
thought  she  wanted  to  show  off  Jane  with  my  plainness. 
But  then  I  thought,  'Nay,  daughters  must  do  as  they're 
bid,'  and  I  set  my  teeth  and  down  I  went,  just  as  I  was* 
Oh,  Pamela  such  an  untidy,  ill-dressed  poor  girl,  with  a 
sad  pale  face !  And  oh ! — I  can  hardly  believe  it  myself — 
the  moment  I  came  into  the  room  up  he  jumped — yes !  he, 
Mr.  W. — and  I  heard  him  cry  out  quite  joyful,  "Ah,  I 
knew  I  could  not  be  mistaken.  Ah,  'tis  she,  'tis  she  indeed !' 
And  then  he  took  both  my  hands  in  his  and  kissed  them 
one  after  the  other  very  respectful.  And  says  he,  'Forgive 
me,  Madam,  forgive  me !  Your  mother  will  explain.  It  has 
been  an  absurd  misunderstanding.  I  found  a  treasure, 
and  I  thought  I  had  lost  it.  Oh,  forgive  me  if  I  seem  too 
precipitate!'  And  Jane  got  up  and  went  to  the  window 
and  began  to  tap  on  the  pane,  and  Mamma  and  the 
Duchess  looked  at  each  other.  And  the  Duchess  said:  'I 
congratulate  you,  Amelia;  this  is  the  most  crazy  bit  of 
good  fortune  that  ever  befell  a  mother.*  And  everything 
did  seem  rather  crazy,  for  there  was  Mamma  at  one  minute 
looking  as  if  she  could  kill  me  and  at  the  next  clasping  me 
and  calling  me  her  favorite  child.  And  oh,"  went  on  the 
plain  Miss  Vibart,  "it  is  precipitate,  but  what  does  that 
matter,  when  we're  both  so  happy?  And  oh,  it  seems  I 
must  tell  you,  and  'tis  not  vanity!  that  the  moment  he 
saw  Jane  he  stared  and  looked  so  mortal  disappointed 
and  seemed  so  confused,  falling  back  two  steps,  indeed, 
instead  of  coming  forward,  that  the  Duchess  cried :  'What's 
the  matter  with  the  fellow?  Ain't  she  pretty  enough?* 

189 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


And  he  said,  'This  is  never  the  young  lady  to  whom  you 
introduced  me  at  Hampshire  House,  ma'am.  There  is 
some  cruel  mistake  here,'  he  says.  And  oh,  he  said  to 
me  when  we  were  alone  together  a  little  while  ago  that 
when  he  saw  that  empty  face — that's  what  he  said — that 
doll's  face,  that  bit  of  waxwork,  his  blood  ran  cold,  and 
then  says  he,  'When  you  came  in!' — oh,  dear,  I'm  not 
dreaming! — 'when  I  saw  your  charming  expressive  coun- 
tenance, full  of  life  and  spirit  and  wit  and  goodness* — he 
did  say  that — 'I  could  not  hold  myself  back,  I  had  to 
speak  at  once,  lest  I  lose  you  again.'  And  now,  con- 
cluded the  future  Marchioness,  turning  her  radiant  visage 
upon  the  milliner,  "He's  gone  to  Harborough  House  to 
tell  his  uncle,  and  Mamma  and  Jane  have  gone  out  to  a 
dinner  party  and  if  you'll  help  me  into  my  frock,  dear — 
yes,  it  is  one  of  poor  Jane's — I'll  be  ready  for  him  when 
he  calls  back  to  wish  me  good-night." 


CHAPTER  IX 

IN  WHICH  MISS  PAMELA  POUNCE  HAS  DONE  WITH  LOW 

PAMELA  POUNCE  was  nothing  if  not   a  business 
woman,  as  her  history  will  have  shown.     She  had  not 
only  those  valuable  intuitions  which  divine  the  public  taste, 
she  had  the  still  more  priceless  quality  of  inspiring  it. 

Before  she  had  completed  her  first  year  with  Madame 
Mirabel,  the  millinery  department  had  become  the  main- 
stay of  the  house ;  and  Pamela  felt  herself  in  a  position  to 
hint  to  her  employer  how  very  much  more  it  would  be  to 
their  mutual  advantage  that  she  should  be  given  a  pro- 
prietary share  in  the  business,  than  that  she  should  set  up 
for  herself. 

Set  up  for  herself !  The  mere  thought  of  such  a  catas- 
trophe put  Madame  Mirabel  in  such  a  flutter  that  she  had 
to  be  revived  with  ratafia  on  the  spot.  There  was  no  con- 
cession that  she  would  not  have  been  willing  to  make  to 
prevent  it. 

Pamela  had  prepared  a  scheme,  which  was  just,  fair- 
minded  and  practical  like  herself.  She  was  willing  to  in- 
vest a  thousand  pounds  for  the  development  of  the  depart- 
ment and  continue  to  direct  the  thriving  showroom,  if 
Madame  Mirabel  would  admit  her  as  a  partner  with  right 
to  half  profits. 

The  agreement  was  drafted  between  them,  drawn  up  by 
Pamela  herself.  Fortified  by  this  document,  she  sought 
her  redoubtable  aunt. 

"Now,  Aunt  Lydia,"  said  she,  "here's  the  opportunity 
of  your  life.  You  lend  me  a  thousand  pounds,  and  I'll 

191 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


give  you  ten  per  cent  for  three  years  and  pay  you  back 
at  the  end  of  it  with  a  bit  over.  And  if  I  drop  down  dead 
between,  you  can  come  on  Madame  Mirabel." 

Lydia  was  no  fool.  She  was  as  fond  of  money  as  only 
such  a  nature  can  be,  and  had,  indeed,  gathered  together 
quite  a  substantial  hoard  in  her  long  years  of  lucrative 
employment.  She  made  all  the  difficulties,  of  course,  which 
the  circumstance  demanded,  but  Pamela,  who  saw  the 
gleam  of  greed  in  her  eye,  knew  that  her  cause  was  won 
from  the  outset. 

She  good-humoredly  consented  to  sign  the  stringent 
document  which  Lydia  thought  necessary  for  her  safety; 
and  to  obtain  Madame  Mirabel's  signature  to  it  also.  The 
transaction  was  concluded  without  much  more  delay  and 
Miss  Pamela  Pounce  passed  from  the  position  of  underling 
to  that  of  partner. 

The  matter  was,  needless  to  say,  kept  private  between 
Madame  Mirabel  and  herself.  It  is  never  wholesome  for  the 
reputation  of  a  business  concern  to  have  these  conveniences 
of  management  discussed ;  and,  for  the  mere  sake  of  disci- 
pline where  large  numbers  are  employed  and  easy  jealousies 
excited,  no  change  affecting  authority  can  be  acknowl- 
edged. 

Miss  Smithson  and  Miss  Popple,  therefore,  while  unable 
to  blind  themselves  to  the  fact  that  their  aged  employer's 
infatuation  for  that  scheming  Miss  Pounce,  was  more 
lamentably  evident  than  ever,  still  buoyed  themselves  up 
with  the  hope  that  her  true  character  would  be  revealed 
before  the  eyes  of  the  too  trusting  dame. 

Miss  Sarah  Vibart's  wedding  order — bride's  anil  brides- 
maid's hats ;  (Jane  was  chief  bridesmaid,  an  advertisement 
which,  as  Pamela  herself  said,  would  have  been  worth  pay- 
ing for  ten  times  over) — brought  a  rush  of  new  clientele  to 

192 


PAMELA  HAS  DONE  WITH  LOVE 

the  Bond  Street  house.  Mr.  Walsingham's  wedding  was 
the  event  of  June — luckily  timed  before  the  unexpected 
death  of  the  Marquis  of  Harborough — and  it  is  scarcely 
too  much  to  say  that  the  first  thought  of  every  lady  of 
fashion  who  received  a  ticket  of  invitation  was :  "Pounce 
shall  make  me  a  new  hat!" 

Lydia,  who  kept  a  close  tongue  where  her  nest-egg  was 
concerned,  began  to  unbend  considerably  towards  her 
niece.  Nothing  succeeds  like  success.  You  could  scarce 
have  dragged  five  shillings  out  of  her,  had  the  girl  been 
lingering  on  at  Tabbishaw's,  but  as  matters  stood,  my 
Lady's  Abigail  felt  "warm  in  her  inwards,"  every  time 
she  thought  of  that  thousand  pounds  which  was  so  likely 
to  bring  a  blessing  upon  her  high  sense  of  family  feeling. 

She  took  to  inviting  Pamela  to  a  dish  of  chocolate  in 
the  sewing  parlor  at  Hertford  Street  of  a  Saturday  after- 
noon, promising  her  also  a  plate  of  those  Queen  cakes 
"which  my  Lady's  still-room  maid  do  turn  out  rather  well, 
and  which  you're  so  fond  of,  my  dear." 

These  invitations  Pamela  accepted  with  increasing  fre- 
quency, and  if  Lydia  happened  to  be  washing  her  Lady- 
ship's best  lace  caps  or  ironing  out  her  ribbons  it  was  only 
becoming,  from  a  niece  to  an  aunt,  that  she  should  lend  a 
hand;  particularly  considering  the  money  obligations  be- 
tween them. 

But  Pamela's  real  reason  for  presenting  herself  at  Hert- 
ford Street  lay  so  deep  down  that  it  could  scarcely  be  said 
that  she  acknowledged  it  even  to  herself. 

She  was  hankering  for  news  of  Jocelyn  Bellairs ;  and,  at 
last,  by  an  artful  twist  of  the  conversation,  Miss  Lydia 
was  induced  to  drop  a  stray  word  in  connection  with  him: 
"that  rubbish!  her  Ladyship  had  got  a  place  for  him  at 

193 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Bristol,  with  an  India  merchant,"  and  she  hoped  to  good- 
ness he'd  keep  steady  and  they'd  hear  no  more  of  him. 

That  was  the  first  item  of  information  which  Pamela 
gathered  for  her  starving  heart.  She  tried  to  tell  herself 
what  a  relief  it  was  not  to  have  him  hanging  about  and  how 
splendid  that  he  should  have  work,  and  how  sure  she  was 
that  he,  so  clever,  would  now  make  a  way  for  himself,  even 
as  she  had  done.  But  it  was  poor  comfort ! 

After  two  Saturdays  wasted,  she  once  more  heard  the 
beloved  name  mentioned,  this  time  again  in  no  uncertain 
tones  of  condemnation. 

My  Lady  was  so  put-about.  Lydia  hadn't  known  her 
so  upset  since  the  day  my  Lord  was  took  up  as  a  highway- 
man ;  and  she,  the  Widow  Bellairs  and  he,  Denis  O'Hara. 

"That  audacious  young  villain !  He's  been  making  a 
regular  popinjay  of  himself  at  Bath.  There's  my  Lady 
Nan  Day,  recovering  from  the  measles,  writes:  'Your 
nephew,  my  dear,  your  nephew  is  the  rage  here ;  driving 
the  most  elegant  curricle  you  ever  saw  with  a  pair  of 
bloods,  which  my  Philip  says  make  his  mouth  water. 
Has  he  come  into  a  fortune  or  not?'  writes  my  Lady 
Nan — and  she  was  always  a  spiteful  one — 'for  he  will  need 
it,'  says  she.  'We  was  all  mortal  sorry  that  his  horse, 
what  he  set  such  store  by,  failed  at  the  Spring  Races.' 
My  Lady  has  wrote  to  him,"  pursued  Lydia,  her  green  eyes 
maliciously  fixed  upon  her  niece,  "to  explain,  for  goodness 
gracious'  sake,  'for  unless  he's  robbed  the  mail,  Lydia,' 
says  she,  'or  been  more  successful  on  the  highway  than  my 
poor  Denis' — and  that  was  what  put  it  into  my  head, 
Pamela,  my  love — 'I'm  very  much  afraid,'  she  says,  '  'tis 
his  master's  strong  box  he's  been  at,  and  that  will  spell 
prison,'  she  says,  'and  the  name  so  well  known.  Oh,  the 
shame  of  it !'  " 

194 


PAMELA  HAS  DONE  WITH  LOVE 

"Shame,  indeed!"  cried  Pamela,  her  glance  flashing 
back,  at  Lydia's  taunt;  she  knew  very  well  what  gave 
such  extra  zest  to  these  tales;  but  she,  Pamela,  was  not 
one  to  wear  her  heart  on  her  sleeve  for  an  old  magpie  to 
peck  at. 

On  the  following  Saturday  she  saw,  from  the  first  mo- 
ment she  crossed  the  threshold,  that  Lydia  was  big  with 
news,  unpleasant  enough  to  make  her  bursting  to  tell  it. 

Pamela  was  past  mistress  of  exasperating  tactics  her- 
self; and  there  was  some  very  pretty  fencing  between  the 
two,  by  which  Lydia  was  forced  to  restrain  her  old- 
maidish  desire  to  plant  a  dagger  in  the  bosom  of  the 
younger  maid.  Pamela  had  so  much  to  discourse  about 
on  the  new  Turban  mode ;  and  the  last  letter  from  Madame 
Eglantine  to  Madame  Mirabel. 

"Poor  thing,  she's  in  all  the  states,  what  with  these  new 
dreadful  doings  and  the  insolence  of  the  people  and  Ilde- 
f onse  letting  his  hair  grow  and  going  out  to  clubs  o'  nights 
to  talk  blasphemy.  Ugh!"  said  Pamela,  "I  never  could 
abide  that  man.  And  my  Lady  Amelia  Vibart,  haggling 
over  the  wedding  bills,  'twas  a  scandal !  And  had  Aunt 
Lydia  heard  the  last  horrid  titbit  about  my  Lord  Har- 
borough  and  Miss  Falcon?  And  wouldn't  it  be  a  pity  if 
Mr.  Walsingham  were  to  miss  coming  in  for  the  title  after 
all?  'Twas  said  my  Lord  Harborough  was  mad  set  on 
marrying  her,  when  there  wouldn't  be  a  mite  of  reason  why 
she  shouldn't  have  a  brat  to  put  Mr.  W.'s  nose  out 
of  joint!" 

Lydia  was  still  seeking  for  an  interval  in  which  to 
thrust,  when  my  Lady's  bell  rang  with  the  double  pull 
which  indicated  that  Miss  Pounce  had  better  hurry  herself 
or  my  Lady  would  know  the  reason  why. 

195 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Pamela  smiled  to  herself  as  the  door  was  banged  behind 
her  aunt ;  then  she  sighed. 

Aunt  Lydia  was  a  tabby  if  ever  there  was  one,  but  oh, 
dear,  what  dreadful  bit  of  tattle  was  she  bound  to  hear  be- 
fore the  evening  was  out?  And  oh,  dear,  what  a  pity  it 
was  that  things  went  so  contrary  in  this  world,  and  that 
poor  girls  had  hearts  at  all ! 

She  had  hardly  had  time  pensively  to  nibble  through  a 
Queen  cake — for  Pamela  was  much  too  sensible  to  let  any 
sentimentality  interfere  with  her  appetite — when  Lydia  re- 
appeared and,  with  much  flouncing  and  head  tossing,  in- 
formed her  that,  it  being  a  dratted  nuisance  that  people 
wouldn't  mind  their  own  business,  it  had  come  to  her  Lady- 
ship's ears,  through  Pompey,  that  Pamela  was  present  in 
the  house.  Nothing  would  serve  her  Ladyship  but  that 
she  must  come  up  at  once  about  a  head  for  to-night's 
concert. 

Pamela  shook  the  crumbs  from  her  apron,  and  rose  with! 
the  imperturbable  alacrity  which  it  was  her  pride  to  bring 
to  all  affairs  of  business. 

The  day  was  hot,  and  my  Lady's  big  bedchamber  a 
delicious  cave  of  coolness  after  the  highly  elevated  atmos- 
phere of  Lydia's  own  parlor.  The  amber  curtains  were 
drawn  before  the  big  windows ;  there  was  a  shining  sea  of 
parquet  floor  on  which  delicate  French  furniture  made  here 
and  there  an  attractive  island.  An  immense  bunch  of  roses 
on  the  spindle-legged  dressing  table  just  caught  the  breeze 
from  the  wide-open  window  and  wafted  fragrance.  My 
Lady  herself,  extended  in  a  vapor  of  white  muslin  on  an 
amber  satin  couch,  lazily  fanning  herself,  was  as  agreeable 
a  spectacle  as  any  heated  young  woman  with  refined  tastes 
could  hope  to  gaze  upon. 

"Sit  down,  Miss  Pounce,"  said  Kitty  affably.  "(Lydia, 

196 


PAMELA  HAS  DONE  WITH  LOVE 

get  out  the  bandbox  with  the  saffron  head.)  Now  my 
dear,  good,  kind  creature,  look  at  it.  Yes !  I  know.  'Tis 
the  sweetest  thing  I've  laid  eyes  on  this  season,  but  con- 
ceive my  horror,  Miss  Pounce,  when  I  heard  anon,  that 
Her  Majesty  was  to  be  present  at  the  Duchess  of  Port- 
land's to-night.  Conceive  my  horror!  I  saw  myself  with 
the  Queen's  eyes !  I  tell  you,  Miss  Pounce,  my  days  at 
Court  would  have  been  counted." 

Here  Lydia  was  heard  to  murmur,  with  the  familiarity 
of  long  service,  and  a  backward  scratch  at  her  niece  that 
she  was  tired  telling  her  Ladyship  that  the  last  year's  head 
from  Madame  Eglantine,  which  her  Ladyship  had  never 
worn  but  the  once,  would  be  the  very  thing  for  her  to  wear 
to-night,  "and  a  genteel,  tasty,  Frenchy  confection  it 
was,"  which  her  Ladyship  wouldn't  better,  not  if  she  ran- 
sacked Bond  Street. 

"I  tell  you,  you  perverse  piece,"  cried  her  mistress,  fan- 
ning herself  with  an  energy  calculated  to  make  even  the 
spectator  feel  hot,  "that  turn  myself  into  a  frump  with  a 
last  year's  mode,  I'll  not  do,  even  to  please  the  Queen. 
Pamela,  child,  I've  set  my  heart  on  the  saffron  head.  I 
vow  and  protest  those  gold  ospreys  with  the  cluster  of  saf- 
fron roses  and  the  little  wreath  of  green  leaves  between,  I 
vow  and  protest  'tis  the  very  dream  to  go  with  my  India 
gold-embroidered  gown — 'Tis  there  on  the  bed,  my  dear, 
as  fine  as  a  cobweb !  There'll  not  be  another  like  it  in  the 
room.  And  there's  never  anything  so  elegant  as  white  and 
gold  of  a  hot  night.  With  my  dark  eyes,  Pamela,  and  the 
gold  ospreys.  Oh,  but  the  gold  ospreys,  so  airy,  so  fly 
away!  And  Her  Majesty  who  will  not  even  tolerate 
feathers!  I'd  have  worn  my  high  band  of  diamonds. 
Pshaw!  it  grieves  me  to  the  very  soul!  What  can  you 
suggest  ?" 

197 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Pamela  put  her  finger  to  her  lip  and  corrugated  her 
white  brow  in  the  profoundest  thought.  Kitty  held  her 
breath  as  she  watched  her.  The  fate  of  nations  might 
have  been  hanging  between  them.  Then  said  the  milliner 
decisively,  "I  see  nothing  for  it.  We  can't  do  it,  my  Lady. 
The  ospreys  will  have  to  go."  Then,  as  Kitty's  face  fell, 
she  added  briskly:  "But  there!  I  often  say  to  myself, 
what  seems  a  trial  is  a  blessing.  Why  should  not  your 
Ladyship  set  a  fashion?  It  came  to  me  just  as  I  looked  at 
your  Ladyship's  gown  and  the  fairy  elegance  of  that  India 
embroidery,  and  your  Ladyship  wears  a  wreath  so  becom- 
ing; wouldn't  gold  grapes  and  green  leaves  look  tasty, 
bunches  each  side  with  the  diamond  bandeau  to  draw  them 
together?" 

"Pounce,  you're  a  genius !"  Kitty  dropped  her  fan  to 
clap  her  hands. 

At  the  same  moment  my  Lord  came  into  the  room  and 
smiled  to  see  her  look  so  pleased. 

"Faith,  and  I've  come  at  the  right  tick  of  the  clock,  I 
think — Morning  to  you,  Miss  Pounce.  You  and  my  Lady 
and  your  fripperies  'tis  the  business  of  the  world,  ain't  it?" 
he  rubbed  his  hands  and  hemmed.  "By  your  bright  face 
Pve  come  at  the  right  tick,  Kitty,  me  darling,  to  ask  you 
for  a  proof  of  your  good  nature." 

"A  proof  of  my  good  nature,  my  Lord?  So  long  as  'tis 
nothing  to  go  against  my  good  sense." 

Kitty  was  always  ready  to  oblige,  in  reason;  but  she 
had  her  wits  about  her. 

"Stay,  child,"  she  cried,  as  Pamela  prepared  discreetly 
to  withdraw.  "It  can  but  take  a  moment.  We  must  send 
Pompey  to  Bond  Street  for  the  grapes,  and  I  vow  that  no 
hand  but  yours  shall  fasten  them  in  my  curls.  Your  niece 
will  write  a  note,  Lydia,  at  my  escritoire,  and  see  that  the 

198 


PAMELA  HAS  DONE  WITH  LOVE 

black  brat  runs.  They  might  send  a  choice  of  sizes,  what 
think  you,  Pamela? — Oh,  what  is  it,  my  Lord?  You  men 
are  so  impatient." 

"Why,  Kitty,"  said  her  husband,  coming  close  to  the 
sofa,  on  which  his  lively  little  spouse  now  sat  very  straight, 
gesticulating  among  the  mother-of-pearl  shimmer  of  her 
cushions.  "The  matter  concerns  you,  really  more  than 
meself.  At  least  it  concerns  your  family.  Poor  young 
Bellairs  has  been  arrested  for  debt.  Nipped  from  me  very 
side,  my  dear,  as  we  came  out  of  the  Cocoa  Tree  together 
a  while  ago,  by  a  rascally  pimp !" 

"Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs?  Do  you  refer  to  Mr.  Jocelyn 
Bellairs?"  asked  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  becoming  rigid. 

Pamela's  quill,  scratching  wildly  across  a  great  sheet 
of  paper  was  arrested  in  midflourish. 

There  was  a  small,  unpleasant  pause,  broken  by  a  loud 
sniff  from  Lydia. 

Then  my  Lady  said:  "Indeed.  I  understood  the  young 
gentleman  was  at  Bristol." 

My  Lord  was  not  misled  by  the  quietness  of  her  tone. 
"Ah,  God  help  you,  Kitty,"  he  exclaimed,  flustered.  "Sure 
you  never  believed  you  could  keep  a  lad  of  that  kidney  with 
his  nose  in  a  desk?  Didn't  he  off  with  himself  with  his  first 
three  months'  salary  and  hasn't  his  luck  been  the  talk  of 
Bath,  barring  the  let-down  of  a  sorrel  filly  at  the  point- 
to-point!  And  sure  if  it  hadn't  been  that  the  dice  has 

been  going  against  him  the  last  three  or  four  days " 

He  broke  off. 

Kitty  sat  like  an  image  of  scorn ;  and  my  Lord,  seeing 
that  his  mission  did  not  seem  likely  to  be  blessed  with  suc- 
cess, proceeded  in  nettled  tones : 

"The  long  and  the  short  of  it  is,  I've  promised  Jocelyn 
we'd  see  to  it.  'Tis  only  a  matter  of  ninety-seven  pound 

199 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


ten,  when  all  is  said  and  done.     And  that  to  a  livery 
stableman." 

He  drew  a  crumpled  sheet  of  blue  paper  from  his  pocket 
as  he  spoke.  Kitty  unexpectedly  stretched  out  her  hand ; 
with  a  sigh  of  relief  he  put  it  into  it. 

"I  knew  you'd  be  the  first  to  say  it  ought  to  be  paid, 
my  dearest  life." 

"Certainly,  it  ought  to  be  paid,  Denis." 

"You  wouldn't  wish  the  poor  dear  lad — and  him  as 
pleasant  over  the  green  cloth  as  ever  I  met — to  be  penned 
up  in  the  sponging  house.  Besides  which,"  added  Kil- 
croney,  in  imprudent  reminiscence,  "don't  I  know ;  isn't  it 
the  mischief  once  you  get  into  one  of  those  holes!  'Tis 
like  a  sheep  in  a  ditch;  the  sky  is  black  with  crows  after 
you,  in  a  twinkling." 

"Very  sad,"  said  my  Lady. 

She  tendered  the  blue  paper  back  with  an  indifferent 
gesture. 

"Have  you  dispatched  Pompey,  Lydia  ?" 

Lord  Kilcroney  put  his  hands  behind  him. 
•    "Nay!  nay!"  cried  he,  with  the  uneasy  boisterousness 
of  one  who  would  force  the  issue  as  a  joke.     "  'Tis  your 
business,  me  darling." 

"I  thought  you  wanted  it  paid,  my  Lord  ?" 

"And  maybe,"  cried  he,  laughing  yet  more  violently, 
"you  think  I  can  pay  it?" 

He  began  pulling  his  pockets  out. 

"Sure,  that  would  be  the  joke  entirely!  I'm  cleaned 
through.  There  ain't  a  single  chinker  left  in  my  purse, 
Kitty,  and  it  the  lovely  red  silk  one  you  made  me  yourself 
last  Christmas.  Troth!  I  am  this  moment  what  they 
say  nature  abhors " 

"And  what's  that,  sir?" 

200 


PAMELA  HAS  DONE  WITH  LOVE 

"A  vacuum,  my  love,"  quoth  my  Lord,  with  a  great 
guffaw. 

Kitty  contemplated  him  a  moment,  icily.  Then  she 
said:  "All  my  sympathies  are  with  Nature." 

Kilcroney  reddened,  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and,  re- 
placing the  linings  of  his  pockets  in  their  normal  position, 
thrust  his  hands  into  them  and  sauntered  out  of  the 
room. 

There  was  nothing  further  to  be  done;  the  moment 
was  unpropitious. 

Kitty  balled  the  blue  sheet  with  an  angry  hand  and 
flung  it  after  him,  and  Pamela,  who  had  never  finished  that 
phrase  of  directions,  rose  from  the  escritoire  and  picked 
it  up. 

The  action  was  performed  with  so  much  composure 
that  it  seemed  but  the  natural  outcome  of  her  good 
manners. 

"Don't  give  it  back  to  me,  child !"  exclaimed  Kitty  with 
tartness.  "Throw  it  into  the  waste-paper  basket.  Have 
you  wrote  your  message?" 

Pamela  walked  back  to  the  writing  table. 

"I  was  un-bethinking  myself,  your  Ladyship,  that  it 
would  be  better  for  me  to  run  back  myself  and  choose  the 
sprays.  Miss  Smithson,  the  person  in  charge  of  the  office 
of  a  Saturday,  is  that  disagreeable,  she'd  send  the  wrong 
sets  on  purpose.  It  won't  take  me  half  an  hour, 
my  Lady." 

She  tore  the  sheet  she  had  begun  writing  upon,  in  two, 
and  dropped  it  into  the  elegant  little  gilt  beribboned 
basket,  which  was  the  repository  of  my  Lady  Kilcroney's 
scraps.  She  made  a  brisk  curtsy  and  stepped  out  of 
the  room. 

Even  Lydia's  sharp  eyes  failed  to  perceive  that  she  had 

201 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


not  thrown  away  the  liveryman's  crumpled  account ;  that 
she  had  thrust  into  her  kerchief. 

Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs  was  not  destined  to  spend  the 
Sabbath  in  a  sponging  house,  for  he  was  released  on  Satur- 
day night,  some  one  having  settled  Mr.  Thomas  Jobbin's 
livery-stable  account,  before  any  other  of  his  creditors  had 
had  wind  of  his  arrest. 

Now  the  young  gentleman  had  stepped  into  liberty  in  a 
very  bad  humor.  He  had  no  doubt  but  that  he  was  once 
again  indebted  to  my  Lady  Kilcroney  in  the  matter,  but, 
like  many  another  spendthrift,  not  having  the  smallest 
claim  upon  her  generosity,  he  considered  that  it  ought  to 
be  unlimited  in  his  regard  and  felt  himself  injured  that  it 
should  go  no  further.  He  had  come  to  review  himself  as 
having  a  right  to  a  share  of  old  Bellairs'  money.  Wasn't 
he,  split  him,  the  last  of  the  name?  Now,  was  this  a  way 
to  treat  the  only  living  representative  of  a  Nabob  who  had 
left  his  widow  the  command  of  millions?  Just  the  debt 
writ  off  and  not  a  farthing  over  to  jingle  in  your  pocket, 
or  a  question  what  was  to  become  of  a  fellow !  "Never  you 
turn  a  hair,"  had  said  my  Lord,  "I'll  be  back  again  in  a 
jiffy  to  set  you  free,  and  we'll  have  a  jolly  night  of  it  while 
my  Lady's  at  her  caterwaul." 

He  had  expected  no  less  of  one  who,  like  Denis  Kil- 
croney, was  profiting  not  only  of  his  own  wide  hoard,  but 
of  that  old  gentleman's  tactful  demise. 

But  instead  of  the  promised  reappearance,  a  message 
had  been  flung  in  at  him,  left  by  a  lackey  towards  seven 
of  the  clock :  my  Lord  was  mortal  sorry  and  he  sent  a  bot- 
tle of  gin  and  some  lemons. 

And  at  ten  the  prisoner  had  been  told  he  was  free. 

Mr.  Bellairs  had  hot  blood  and  it  was  all  afire.  And  the 

202 


PAMELA  HAS  DONE  WITH  LOVE 

mischief  was  in  it  that  he  might  not  even  have  the  satis- 
faction of  calling  out  the  dashed  Irishman  for  his  in- 
solence, since  he  couldn't  help  being  under  an  obligation. 

He  avoided  the  Cocoa  Tree  that  evening  and  plunged 
into  lower  haunts,  where,  not  in  the  very  best  company, 
play  ran  very  nearly  as  high  as  at  the  Mayfair  clubs. 

He  was  an  audacious,  reckless  player,  but  in  the  main  a 
successful  one.  To-night  there  was  something  almost  fan- 
tastic in  his  luck.  He  went  home  in  the  blue  of  the  morn- 
ing with  his  pockets  full  of  gold ;  his  resentful  mood  was 
rather  augmented  by  his  good  fortune  than  otherwise. 

Nor  was  he  in  a  whit  better  temper  when,  some  five 
hours  later,  he  swaggered  out  into  the  Green  Park,  shaven 
to  velvet;  his  sparrow-tailed  coat,  his  high,  close-fitting 
boots,  his  tight  buckskin  breeches  and  their  bunches  of 
ribbon,  his  short  waistcoat  and  his  big  buckled  hat  the 
very  last  thing  in  manly  modes.  It  was  his  intention  to 
call  upon  my  Lady  Kilcroney  in  Hertford  Street,  and 
repay  her  the  paltry  ninety-seven  pounds  ten  which  stood 
between  him  and  a  meeting  with  my  Lord. 

Miss  Pamela  Pounce,  coming  from  church  and  stepping 
in  the  same  direction — she  had  grown  singularly  attentive 
to  Aunt  Lydia — came  plump  upon  the  Beau  as  their  paths 
converged  at  the  Piccadilly  gate.  His  dark  face  kindled, 
while  her  blooming  cheek  grew  pale. 

"La,  to  be  sure,  sir,  who'd  ha'  thought  of  meeting  you?" 

"Why  and  is  it  you,  Pamela?" 

His  eye  ran  her  up  and  down.  She  was  clad  in  shim- 
mering blue-lilac  taffeta  and  her  wide-brimmed  hat,  of  the 
kind  which  Sir  Joshua  had  set  the  rage,  was  trimmed  with 
broad  silk  ribbons  of  the  same  shade.  She  wore  a  plain 
muslin  kerchief;  a  black  ribbon  tied  back  her  unpowdered 
chestnut  curls.  She  made  a  very  pleasant  picture;  all, 

203 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


with  perfect  taste,  within  a  certain  modest  compass  becom- 
ing her  station. 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  emotion  evoked  in  her  by 
the  sight  of  him.  Her  breath  came  quickly ;  her  clear  gaze 
fluttered  and  fell,  and  her  pallor  was  succeeded  by  a  flame 
of  carnation. 

Now  out  of  the  black  mood  in  Mr.  Bellairs'  soul  there 
flashed  an  evil  fire. 

"Of  all  the  meetings  in  the  whole  world,"  cried  he, 
ardently,  "there's  none  could  give  me  half  so  much  joy, 
my  dearest  creature!  Turn  with  me.  I  must  speak  with 
you.  Nay,  Pamela,  I  vow,  I  vow  you've  not  been  out  of 
my  thoughts  this  month.  Turn  and  come  with  me,  I  say. 
Let  us  away  under  the  trees,  where  we  can  talk  by  our- 
selves. Pamela,  dearest  Pamela,  take  my  arm.  You  are 
more  lovely  than  ever,  and  I  am — I  am  more  headlong  in 
love  than  ever  I  was  before !" 

There  was  too  great  a  flutter  in  the  girl's  soul  for  her  to 
have  her  usual  cool  grip  of  the  situation.  An  overwhelm- 
ing tide  of  happiness  lifted  her  from  her  mental  balance. 
She  could  not  doubt  that,  after  all  these  months,  it  must 
be  genuine  love  that  lit  up  his  glance,  that  trembled  in  his 
voice  and  in  his  touch.  She  had  proved  to  him,  surely, 
what  kind  of  girl  she  was.  He  must  mean  the  right  thing 
at  last,  or  he  would  not  so  whole-heartedly  declare  himself. 
And  she  had  just  rendered  him  a  signal  service,  which, 
though  he  could  not  yet  know  it,  gave  her  a  delightful 
sense  of  meeting  him  on  his  own  level.  She  was,  moreover, 
in  a  vastly  different  position  now  from  that  of  the  mere 
working  milliner.  She  had  resources  at  her  command,  a 
future  before  her. 

And  there  he  was,  the  dear  fellow,  and  he  loved  her 

204 


PAMELA  HAS  DONE  WITH  LOVE 

still !     Could  a   Sunday  morning  in  June  hold   a  more 
golden  bliss? 

So  she  hung  on  his  arm,  and  listened  with  parted  lips 
to  his  raptures,  to  the  fantastic  string  of  plans,  the  sweet, 
repeated  endearments  wlu'ch  poured  from  his  lips.  Now 
that  they  had  met  there  were  to  be  no  more  partings. 
Things  were  changed.  He  had  plenty  of  money.  Here, 
she  looked  at  him  in  astonishment  and  he  drew  a  handful  of 
gold  from  his  pocket.  He  was  in  the  devil's  own  vein  of 
luck,  he  told  her.  He  wouldn't  listen  to  her  objurgation ; 
he  laughed  at  the  admonishing  finger.  Her  assurance  that 
she  possessed  a  safer  and  more  worthy  source  of  wealth 
he  tossed  aside  as  a  jest.  There  was  a  horse  of  his  booked 
for  Ascot.  If  she  did  not  romp  in  with  a  sweet  little  cot- 
tage at  Fulham  for  them  both  at  her  heels ! 

"Oh,  Mr.  Bellairs  1"  Pamela  clasped  her  other  hand  over 
his  arm.  "I  could  come  up  and  down  to  business  as  easy 
as  easy.  A  cottage  with  a  bit  of  garden !  'Tis  the  very 
thing  I've  always  dreamed  of!" 

"And  I  hope  you  put  me  in  the  dream,  my  lovely  girl." 
He  kissed  her  behind  the  trunk  of  a  big  beech  tree. 
"Why,"  cried  he,  "who'd  have  thought  to  find  you  so 
sensible  all  at  once?" 

It  was  not,  perhaps,  so  much  the  words,  as  the  way  in 
which  he  looked  at  her  after  he  had  kissed  her,  that  opened 
the  sudden  gulf  before  her!  She  drew  back  and  stood 
staring,  her  face  haggard,  all  the  lovely  bloom  and  youth- 
ful ecstasy  blasted  out  of  it. 

Then  she  said,  in  a  low,  strained  voice — Pamela  went 
straight  to  her  point,  she  was  not  one  to  cover  ugly  situa- 
tions with  a  mince  of  words — "You  don't  mean  marriage, 
then,  Mr.  Bellairs." 

205 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


The  ugliness  of  his  mood  sprang  into  naked  prominence. 
He  broke  into  a  laugh. 

"Come,  don't  play  the  prude,  now !  Don't  pretend  you 
didn't  understand."  Then  he  added,  a  sort  of  shame 
creeping  into  his  accents  in  spite  of  himself,  "Be  sensible, 
my  dear  girl.  Don't  play  the  fool  with  our  lives  again." 

He  put  out  his  arm  again  to  embrace  her,  but  she  struck 
him  a  vigorous  buffet  that  sent  him  staggering  from  her. 

"You've  laid  a  vile  trap  for  me,  Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs, 
but  thank  God  I  didn't  fall  into  it !  I  see  you  now  as  you 
are,  a  low,  selfish  scamp  that  doesn't  think  it  shame  to  take 
his  pleasure  on  other  people.  You'd  drag  my  good  name 
into  the  dust  with  as  little  concern  as  you  live  on  my 
Lady's  money.  So  long  as  you  get  your  fling  you  don't 
care  who  you  rob  or  what  you  destroy !  Oh,  I'm  glad  to 
have  seen  you  as  you  are !  And  good-morning  to  you,  Mr. 
Jocelyn  Bellairs,  for  a  very  paltry  dog  !'* 

She  swept  him  a  curtsy  which  was  magnificent  in  its 
repudiation.  He  had  a  swift  vision  of  her  scorching  eyes, 
her  scarlet  cheeks ;  she  turned  and  left  him,  dumbfounded. 

"I'm  done  with  love,"  said  Pamela  Pounce  to  herself. 
"May  I  never  hear  of  it  or  see  it  or  touch  it  again !" 

Little  did  she  guess  with  what  overwhelming  passion 
she  was  very  shortly  destined  to  behold  the  cruel  god  at 
work  upon  another  life ! 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  WHICH  MISS  POUNCE  SETS  THEEE   BLACK  FEATHEES 
FOR  TEAGEDY 

MISS  Pamela  Pounce  was  in  the  act  of  tying  on  her 
own  hat,  in  the  upper  room,  preparatory  to  de- 
parture after  the  day's  work,  when  a  breathless  junior 
summoned  her. 

"There's  a  young  lady  below  as  wants  to  see  you,  Miss 
Pounce,  and,  la !  I  think  'tis  Miss  Falcon  1" 

Now,  Felicity  Falcon  had  recently  flashed  out  upon  the 
London  stage  with  a  startling  and  unexpected  splendor 
that  was  more  like  that  of  a  comet  than  of  a  star;  Miss 
Farren,  Mrs.  Siddons,  Mrs.  Jordan  were  for  the  moment 
as  idols  overthrown.  The  cry  was  all  for  Falcon.  Her 
name  was  on  every  man's  lips.  She  was  the  first  excite- 
ment of  the  season;  and  not  the  opera,  not  an  oratorio 
nor  a  concert,  not  a  rout  at  Almack's  nor  a  display  at 
Ranelagh  could  be  said  to  offer  attraction  in  comparison 
with  the  playhouse  which  announced  the  fair  Falcon  in  the 
night's  performance. 

On  hearing  this  remarkable  name  Pamela  paused,  her 
hand  on  the  velvet  string  which  fastened  her  simple  Dun- 
stable  straw  under  her  round,  white  chin.  A  play-actress ! 
Many  a  young  person  of  that  profession  had  Miss  Pounce 
with  dignity  shown  forth  already  from  the  doors  of  this 
select  establishment:  "Much  regretting,  Madam,  that 
there  is  nothing  likely  to  suit  you  here." 

Heavens,  if  a  Mirabel  hat  were  to  be  recognized  on  the 
boards.  But  Felicity  Falcon?  It  was  only  last  week  that 

207 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Pamela  had  wept  and  trembled  and  sucked  in  breaths  of 
excitement  over  her  "Mrs.  Haller."  Never  had  she  beheld 
anything  more  affecting,  more  impassioned,  more  soul- 
stirring,  and  elegant  than  that  impersonation. 

To  provide  Miss  Falcon  with  a  hat  in  which  she  would 
enthrall  and  ravish  all  London!  It  was  too  splendid  an 
opportunity  for  such  an  artistic  soul  as  that  of  Pamela  to 
resist.  After  hours,  too,  and  the  shutters  putting  up,  and 
no  fear  of  awkward  encounters.  And  if  some  of  her  ladies 
did  find  it  out,  why,  f oh !  for  one  that  would  be  offended, 
forty  would  order  a  hat  to  the  same  model. 

Pamela  flung  the  Dunstable  straw  off  her  chestnut  head, 
and  turning  with  great  dignity,  "Inform  Miss  Falcon," 
said  she,  "that  I  will  attend  her  presently." 

After  a  due  delay,  which  she  spent  in  drumming  with 
white  fingers  on  the  dressing  table,  her  eyes  lost  beyond 
her  own  reflection  in  a  far  vision  of  millinery  genius, 
Madame  Mirabel's  partner  appeared  in  the  empty  shop, 
sedate,  her  eyebrows  well  elevated  into  her  white  forehead, 
her  hands  folded  on  her  trim  waistband. 

The  slender  figure  in  the  brown  silk  cloak  turned  quickly 
with  a  rustle  and  flutter. 

"You  was  wishful  to  speak  with  me,  Madam?"  ques- 
tioned Miss  Pounce,  in  her  finest  business  manner. 

"I  want  a  hat  for  to-night,  for  Lady  Teazle — for  the 
third  act,  for  the  screen  scene.  Oh,  I  want  some- 
thing  " 

Miss  Pounce  raised  her  hand. 

"One  moment,  Madam." 

She  gazed  at  the  narrow,  pale  face,  unrouged,  the 
dark,  ardent  eyes. 

"  'Tis  the  most  mortal-genteel  creature  I  have  ever 
seen,"  thought  Pamela. 

208 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


"Not  a  word,  Miss  Falcon  1"  cried  she.  Then  in  the 
tone  of  a  sibyl:  "Black  and  white,  or  yet  all  white.  But 
if  you  listen  to  me,  black  and  white." 

"I've  no  time  to  get  any  new  gowns  for  the  part,"  said 
Miss  Falcon. 

She  had  a  slow,  musical  voice,  with  a  ring  in  it  as  of 
tears  never  far  off,  yet  never  to  be  shed. 

"And  if  you'll  excuse  me,  Miss,"  repeated  the  milliner. 
"Lady  Teazle's  not  your  part,  so  to  speak.  Tragedy, 
that's  what  you're  born  to.  Oh,  your  Mrs.  Haller!" 
Pamela  drew  a  sucking  breath  in  reminiscence  of  last 
week's  thrills.  "There!  I'd  never  ask  to  enjoy  anything 
more.  Cry  I  did.  I  couldn't  see  out  of  my  two  eyes,  I  vow 
and  protest,  when  I  came  forth  of  the  theater.  But  if  it's 
got  to  be  Lady  Teazle,  Madam,  'tis  your  one  bit  of  trag- 
edy I'm  to  dress  your  head  for,  as  I  understand  it.  And 
put  color  on  it — I  declare  I'd  as  soon  stick  a  pink  rosette 
on  that  there  goddess  with  the  lamp  from  Greece  his 
Grace  of  Hampshire  sets  so  much  store  by  in  his  hall.  Put 
yourself  into  white  for  it,  Miss  Falcon,  and  I'll  do  you  a 
hat  that'll  show  it  off  and  you.  When  all's  said  and  done, 
'twill  be  a  symbol  of  what  an  innocent,  poor  young  lady 
you  are,  so  took  in  by  that  lying  young  gentleman,  what  I'd 
hiss  off  the  boards  every  time  he  showed  his  vile,  deceit- 
ful face,  if  I'd  my  will !  La !  men  are  base  creatures,"  cried 
Pamela,  out  of  her  own  bitterness.  "White  for  your  inno- 
cence and  the  shadow  of  my  broad  brim  over  your  eyes 
with  a  toss  of  white  feathers  atop,  and  just  three  black 
plumes  standing  up  in  the  midst  of  them — the  bit  of  trag- 
edy that  has  come  into  your  young  life;  one,"  said  Miss 
Pounce,  "for  the  horrid  danger  you've  escaped,  and  one 
for  your  poor  deceived  heart,  and  one  for  the  remorse, 
like,  over  the  goodness  of  that  kind  Sir  Peter,  making  his 

209 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


will  so  generous  and  trusting,  for  all  his  ways,  'ud  be 
enough  to  drive  any  wife  out  of  her  wits.  Those  black 
feathers,"  said  the  girl  impressively,  "will  show  you  off, 
Miss  Falcon,  better  than  trumpet  blasts." 

Miss  Falcon  listened  with  an  odd,  abstracted  look. 

"So  you  think  I'm  best  in  tragedy,  do  you?"  she  said, 
and  signed.  "But  I  don't  want  to  be  tragic.  I  want  to  be 
happy."  And  then:  "I'm  late!"  she  cried  impetuously. 
"You'll  have  to  bring  me  the  hat  at  the  theater.  I've 
scarce  the  time  to  get  into  my  clothes." 

A  handsome  private  coach,  with  liveried  footmen,  was 
waiting  for  her  at  the  door,  and  as  Pamela  accompanied 
her  to  the  threshold,  the  actress  looked  back  over  her 
shoulder  with  a  fugitive  smile: 

"I'll  wear  a  white  satin  gown  for  the  screen  scene,"  she 
said,  stepped  into  the  coach,  and  was  whirled  away. 

Pamela  stood  looking  after  her. 

"Now  who's  paying  for  all  that?"  the  milliner  asked 
herself.  "Some  very  great  personage,  'tis  well  known ;  for 
anything  more  splendid  and  discreet  I  never  see.  Best  in 
tragedy,  you  poor  thing!"  The  tears  rose  to  Pamela's 
candid  eyes.  "Why,  'tis  tragedy  itself  you  are  already  1 
You,  so  young,  with  that  smile  that  ought  to  have  warmed 
a  good  man's  heart!  La,  if  my  ladies  knew  who  'tis  I'm 
going  to  trim  a  hat  for  this  minute,  and  where  'tis  I'm  to 
bring  it  when  'tis  done !" 

Pamela  Pounce  looked  about  her  with  shrewd  eyes,  as 
she  sat  very  politely,  on  the  edge  of  a  cane  chair  in  Miss 
Falcon's  dressing-room  at  Drury  Lane.  A  bandbox  at 
her  feet,  her  hands  folded  one  across  the  other  in  her  dove 
gray  lap,  she  presented  the  very  image  of  elegant  pro- 
priety in  a  doubtful  atmosphere.  She  had  not  expected  to 

210 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


find  company  in  the  dressing-room,  the  play  being  well 
started;  nevertheless,  there  was  a  knot  of  two  or  three 
modish-looking  individuals  who  laughed  a  good  deal  to- 
gether, and  tapped  the  lids  of  their  own  snuff-boxes  and 
took  pinches  out  of  each  other's  with  positively  the  last 
thing  in  flourishes. 

The  gaunt  woman  who  moved  about  at  the  back  of  the 
dressing  table,  unnecessarily  shaking  garments,  was,  of 
course,  the  actress's  dresser,  and  a  sour  piece  she  was, 
thought  Pamela,  who  had  already  refused,  with  a  high  air 
of  contempt,  this  functionary's  proposal  to  leave  the 
bandbox  with  her.  "As  if  I  was  come  all  this  way  to  do 
porter's  work!"  thought  Miss  Pounce,  with  a  toss  of  her 
admirably  tired  head. 

Miss  Falcon  was  standing  at  the  door,  looking  in  upon 
them,  before  any  one  was  aware  of  her  presence ;  then  she 
came  forward,  followed  by  a  portly,  handsome  gentleman 
past  middle  age,  at  sight  of  whom  the  gossips  bowed  to  a 
most  obsequious  depth. 

Miss  Falcon  bore  still  upon  her  countenance  the  humor- 
ous peevishness  of  the  character  she  had  just  represented. 

"Why,  how  now?"  she  exclaimed.  "Fie,  for  shame, 
gentlemen!  What  are  you  doing  here?  If  you  desire  to 
show  me  a  compliment  your  place  is  before  the  curtain, 
sirs !  Fob !  'Tis  a  poor  compliment  to  salute  an  actress 
in  her  dressing-room !" 

"Why,  my  dearest  creature !"  exclaimed  the  chief  of  the 
fops  coming  forward,  and  bowing  repeatedly  with  such  an 
affected  parade  of  courtesy  that  Pamela's  hand  itched  to 
box  his  ears.  "I  vow  and  declare  we  are  but  mustering  all 
our  energies  to  acclaim  you  after  your  great  scene!  We 
would  not  spoil  that  effect,  'pon  our  life !  Not  for  a  hun- 
dred thousand  guineas!  What's  Lady  Teazle  before  the 

211 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


screen  scene?  No  part  for  your  genius,  incomparable 
Falcon!" 

"Out  with  you  now,  then!"  said  Miss  Falcon.  "Good- 
evening,  Miss  Pounce.  Oh,  gentlemen,  gentlemen,  indeed 
you  cannot  remain  here!  Miss  Pounce  and  I  have  the 
most  important  business  on  hand.  La,  that  bandbox!  It 
is  vastly  good  of  you,  Miss  Pounce.  Pray,  my  Lord,  give 
the  gentlemen  the  lead  and  take  them  to  their  seats !" 

"Rat  me !"  said  the  spokesman  of  the  fashionable  group, 
looking  round  with  what  Pamela  thought  was  a  very  offen- 
sive leer.  "If  my  Lord  Harborough  sets  the  example,  who 
are  we  that  we  should  refuse  to  follow  it?  After  you,  my 
Lord  Marquis." 

Pamela  had  often  heard  the  name  of  the  great  marquis, 
especially  of  late,  but  she  had  never  yet  seen  him.  She 
now  gazed  at  him  with  shrewd  eyes  of  disapproval. 

"Ah,  my  Lord,  you  may  have  a  fine  taste  in  coaches 
and  in  the  horses  to  draw  them,  and  a  superlative  delicate 
taste  in  play-actresses,  but  to  my  mind  'tis  mortal  poor 
taste  to  be  bringing  those  gray  hairs  that  are  under  your 
wig,  and  an  honored  name,  and  all  your  privilege,  to  the 
undoing  of  one  poor  girl !  You  should  keep  all  that  smile 
for  your  grand-nephews — Mr.  W*'s  brats — you  should  in- 
deed, my  Lord !" 

My  Lord  Harborough  raised  himself  from  a  profound 
bow  over  the  hand  which  Felicity  Falcon  extended  to  him 
in  a  careless  sort  of  way,  more  as  if  she  were  dropping 
something  out  of  it  than  yielding  it  to  his  caress.  The 
smile  he  gave  her  as  he  straightened  himself  was  full  of 
ardent  admiration.  Although  he  failed  to  meet  with  her 
favor,  Pamela  could  not  but  admit  that  he  had  a  very 
splendid  presence,  and  that  any  woman's  head,  much  less 

212 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


that  of  a  young  player  on  her  promotion,  might  well  be 
turned  by  receiving  attention  from  such  a  quarter. 

My  Lord  Marquis  now  waved  the  company  from  the 
room  with  a  politely  compelling  gesture,  as  of  a  host  who 
bids  his  guests  pass  before  him,  kissed  his  hand  to  Miss 
Falcon,  and  himself  departed. 

"Now,  my  dear,  my  -dear  girl,  the  hat !"  cried  she,  turn- 
ing upon  Pamela. 

And  Pamela  had  the  strange  thought  that  Miss  Fal- 
con— even  though  she  had  stepped  off  the  boards! — had 
not  ceased  acting  for  one  single  moment,  and  that  no 
emotion  had  been  more  cleverly  counterfeited  than  the 
playfulness  with  which  she  was  now  herself  addressed. 

Indeed,  when  Felicity  Falcon  first  contemplated  her 
countenance  in  the  mirror  under  that  confection  in  which 
Miss  Pounce  considered  her  own  genius  had  reached  its 
most  perfect  expression,  so  deep  an  air  of  tragedy  spread 
itself  over  her  features  that  the  sprightly  milliner  thought 
in  dismay,  "Heaven  be  good  to  me ;  to  see  her  one  would 
think  my  lovely  feathers  were  crowning  a  hearse !" 

But  as  if  she  guessed  her  companion's  thoughts,  the 
play-actress  instantly  resumed  a  jocund  air,  and,  twist- 
ing her  head  from  side  to  side,  treated  her  own  reflection 
to  smiles  of  different  meanings,  as  though  testing  their 
effect ;  mischief,  archness,  innocent  mirth,  mockery,  melan- 
choly chased  each  other  across  her  fair  countenance  like 
shadows  over  a  pool,  and  in  each  Miss  Pounce  could  have 
cried  out  to  her  to  stay  it,  vowing  that  she  was  more  per- 
fect in  it  than  the  last. 

Indeed,  the  delicate  loveliness  set  in  the  flying  powdered 
curls,  crowned  with  the  soft  splendor  of  the  feathers, 
marked,  so  to  speak,  by  the  three  notes  of  black,  was  a 
vision  worth  gazing  upon.  The  sheen  of  the  white  satin 

213 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


she  had  chosen  for  her  robe  flung  up  the  ivory  of  her 
shoulders  and  throat.  Miss  Pounce  almost  regretted  to 
see  the  obligatory  smear  of  rouge  put  on  each  pale  cheek ; 
by  which,  however,  the  lily  fairness  gained  something 
exotic,  feverish,  that  seemed  to  match  very  well  with  the 
swift  passion  of  her  art. 

"It'll  be  such  a  Lady  Teazle  as  never  was,"  thought  the 
milliner;  and  was  wondering  whether  she  could  yet  find  a 
seat  for  herself  in  the  theater,  when,  suddenly  turning 
dark  haunted  eyes  upon  her,  Miss  Falcon  said  like  a 
child: 

"Oh,  do  let  me  find  you  here  when  I  come  back,  you 
kind  thing!"  and,  without  giving  Madame  Mirabel's  head 
woman  time  to  reply,  she  added:  "I  know  you  will,"  and 
whisked  back  to  the  dressing  table. 

Her  hand  hovered  over  a  closed  jewel  case,  then,  shrug- 
ging her  shoulders,  she  drew  out  a  string  of  pearls  and 
clasped  it  round  her  throat. 

It  was  strange  for  Pamela  presently  to  sit  alone  in  the 
little  dressing-room  and  think  of  the  mimic  play  of  emo- 
tion, clash  of  passion  and  interest  that  was  enthralling  so 
many  scores  of  spectators  within  a  few  yards  of  her;  to 
think,  too,  of  that  drama  of  real  life,  so  sad  and  shameful, 
of  which  she  had  unexpectedly  become  a  witness. 

It  was  contrary  to  her  vivacious  nature  to  sit,  unoccu- 
pied and  in  patience,  while  the  world  swept  on  its  way, 
but  to-night  she  had  much  to  engross  her  thoughts.  All 
she  had  seen  pointed  to  courses  which,  to  her  straight 
judgment,  could  not  but  appear  as  evil.  Yet  if  ever, 
thought  Pamela  Pounce,  there  was  delicacy  and  purity 
stamped  on  a  human  countenance,  if  ever  noble  pride,  it 
was  on  the  face  of  the  young  play-actress. 

214 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


"Why  did  she  ask  me  to  remain?"  puzzled  the  girl.  "If 
my  Lord  Harborough  is  her  protector,  as  he  seems  to  be, 
what  does  she  want  with  a  poor,  honest  milliner?  Oh,  la! 
to  see  her,  so  beautiful,  with  them  pearls,  and  to  know 
what  it  means,  I  could  fair  cry !" 

Miss  Falcon's  dresser  came  rushing  in,  declaring  that 
there  never  had  been  such  a  success  as  the  new  Lady 
Teazle;  that  the  house  had  had  her  out  again  and  again. 
"And,  oh,  my  goodness,  the  shouts  and  claps  and  nosegays 
flying!  What  a  pity  Miss  had  not  been  in  the  gallery!" 

Before  Pamela  had  time  to  reply  Miss  Falcon  herself, 
accompanied  by  a  very  conspicuous  group  of  admirers, 
returned  to  her  dressing-room.  Her  flush  outdid  the 
rouge,  her  eyes  flashed.  The  tips  of  her  taper  fingers 
rested  on  Lord  Harborough's  wrist,  and  he  came  in  leading 
her  with  an  air  as  though  her  triumph  belonged  to  him. 
Behind  her  the  sycophants  gabbled,  "for  all  the  world  like 
father's  geese,"  thought  Miss  Pounce. 

"Oh,  my  Lord,  she  is  incomparable !"  "I  do  assure  you, 
Miss  Falcon,  when  the  screen  was  knocked  down  and  you 
stood  forth  I  could  have  fallen  on  my  knees  before  you!" 
"  'Pon  honor.  'Pon  honor  never  was  acting  half  so  fine !" 

The  flush  was  fading,  and  the  fire  dying  in  her  gaze  as 
she  turned  round  upon  them. 

"Pray,  gentlemen,  you  are  very  kind,  but  I  have  to 
change  my  gown  for  the  next  act.  My  Lord,  bid  your 
friends  leave  me.  And  you,  too,  my  Lord." 

As  bowing,  kissing  hands,  grimacing,  jostling  against 
each  other,  the  little  knot  of  gossips  withdrew,  obedient 
once  more  to  their  patron's  wave,  he  himself  lingered. 

"Felicity,"  he  said,  "there  never  was  any  one  like  you. 
My  dear,  you  brought  the  tears  to  my  eyes." 

When  he  released  her  hand  there  was  a  new  ring  upon  it* 

215 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


The  donor  hurried  forth,  as  if,  with  the  finest  tact,  to 
forego  gratitude  in  connection  with  a  trifle,  or  so  Miss 
Pounce  understood  his  magnificent  mien. 

Felicity  gazed  at  the  object  on  her  hand,  gave  a  laugh 
which  rang  scornful,  dropped  the  jewel  from  her  on  the 
dressing  table,  and  sat  down  before  the  mirror. 

"Now,"  said  she  to  Pamela,  "take  off  the  hat  yourself, 
if  you  will.  My  dresser  hath  so  gross  a  touch.  The  hat, 
you  know,  it  has  made  me  to-night.  I  owe  you  a  vast  debt 
of  gratitude.  Oh,  those  black  feathers!  Your  excellent 
taste,  child,  gave  the  note,  I  do  assure  you,  to  my  whole 
rendering.  The  tragedy,  you  know,  and  the  innocence, 
and  the  remorse." 

It  seemed  to  Pamela  as  if  she  were  mocking  herself  as 
she  gazed  upon  her  own  countenance.  She  broke  off.; 
There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Come  in,"  she  cried.  And,  as  a  young  gentleman  in 
mourning,  with  a  pale  face,  appeared  in  the  aperture,  she 
went  on  in  an  unchanged  voice:  "How  would  it  be,  Miss 
Pounce,  if  I  were  to  run  a  blue  ribbon  among  these  curls? 
'Twould  not  come  amiss,  I  think,  in  this  last  act,  to  mark 
the  girlishness  of  Lady  Teazle  beside  so  old  a  husband. 
Now,  my  Lord,  pray  be  quick  about  your  business.  I  have 
scarce  five  minutes  to  give  you!  Yes,  a  blue  ribbon,  I 
think.  You  have  such  charming  fingers,  my  dear,  pray 
pass  it  in  yourself.  Go  on,  my  Lord,  I  can  see  you  very 
well  in  the  glass,  and  sure,  besides,  I  did  not  promise  to 
look  at  you,  so  long  as  I  listen." 

"You  mean  to  torture  me,"  said  the  young  man  in  a 
low  voice. 

Had  he  been  on  the  rack,  Pamela  thought,  glancing 
compassionately  at  his  reflection,  as  her  hands  moved  deli- 

216 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


cately  in  the  actress's  tresses  he  could  scarce  have  had  a 
greater  air  of  suffering. 

"Foh!"  cried  Miss  Falcon.  ("Is  not  that  a  trifle  too 
forward,  Miss  Pounce?")  "Pray,  my  Lord,  remember, 
this  interview  is  none  of  my  seeking." 

"I  asked  to  speak  with  you  alone." 

"Ah,  but  I  did  not  promise  you  that !  Say  out,  or  keep 
silence,  it  matters  nothing  to  me." 

"I  begin  to  believe  what  I  have  heard,"  he  exclaimed 
hoarsely. 

Her  eye  flashed  lightning  at  his  image  in  the  glass. 

"Indeed,  my  Lord?  And  that  again  leaves  me  in- 
different." 

But  as  she  spoke  she  turned  round  on  her  chair.  What 
a  marvel  of  loveliness  she  was,  thought  the  milliner.  'Twas 
but  natural  any  poor  young  gentleman  that  loved  her 
should  be  distraught  upon  her.  He  gazed  on  her  wildly, 
then  broke  out,  clasping  his  hands. 

"Nay,"  he  cried.  "I  will  not  believe  it.  I  will  not  be- 
lieve it,  unless  you  tell  me  yourself.  Felicity,  my  father  is 
dead.  I  am  my  own  master.  Look  at  me.  Behold  this 
black.  I  came  straight — yes,  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it — 
straight  from  the  closing  of  my  father's  grave  to  offer  you 
my  hand  and  name." 

He  paused. 

"I  ought,  no  doubt,  to  be  overwhelmed  at  your  generos- 
ity. A  month  ago  you  were  no  less  ardent,  if  I  remember 
right,  in  pressing  a  different  proposition,"  she  said 
very  quietly. 

Pamela's  heart  quickened  in  passionate  sympathy. 
What  a  world  was  this  for  poor  girls  ! 

"It's  not  possible,"  the  young  gentleman  cried,  "that 
you  will  carry  rancor  so  far!  A  month  ago  I  was  not  a 

217 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


free  agent ;  a  month  ago  I — oh,  confusion !  You  cannot 
have  understood.  I — Miss  Falcon,  I  am  now  Earl  Ash- 
more,  and  I  ask  you  to  become  my  countess.  This  is  a 
question  of  marriage.  You  cannot  thus  lightly  dismiss  so 
honorable,  so  respectful  an  offer!" 

"Marriage !"  she  laughed.  "I,  too,  am  a  free  agent,  sir, 
and  I  have  tasted  liberty  longer  than  you.  I  have  no  de- 
sire to  relinquish  it." 

A  moment  he  stood  gazing  dt  her  with  clenched  hands 
and  open  mouth,  as  if  unable  to  grasp  the  extent  of  her 
folly  and  his  own  misery.  Then  he  snapped  his  jaws  to- 
gether and  crimsoned  to  the  roots  of  his  lightly  pow- 
dered hair. 

"It's  true,  then?" 

"What  is  true?" 

"What  all  the  world  says;  that  you're  my  Lord  Har- 
borough's — my  Lord  Harborough's " 

He  choked  upon  the  word. 

Pamela  Pounce  held  her  breath  in  the  dreadful  silence 
that  ensued.  Then: 

"Don't  be  a  foolish  lad,"  said  Miss  Falcon  in  a  changed, 
kind  voice.  "One  day  you'll  say,  'Whatever  the  player 
woman  may  have  done,  she  did  one  good  deed  to  me. 
She  wouldn't  marry  me  when  I  was  fool  enough  to  ask 
her.' " 

Then  Felicity  turned  back  to  the  mirror  with  a  laugh 
that  rang  like  tinkling  icicles,  so  musical  it  was,  so  cold. 

The  wretched  young  man  cast  himself  on  his  knees, 
lifted  his  clasped  hands  and  wrung  them.  He  had  forgot- 
ten that  there  was  any  witness,  save  the  one  who  was  at 
that  moment  all  the  world  to  him. 

"Felicity,  I  don't  care  what  you  have  done — what  you 

218 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


are  to  that  bad  old  man.  I  will  forgive  everything.  Come 
to  me  and  be  my  wife !" 

"Now,  Bonnets,  open  the  door.  Miss  Pounce,  pray  put 
a  hand  upon  my  Lord's  elbow  and  help  him  to  rise.  That 
is  the  way  out,  my  Lord  Ambrose.  (I  cannot  help  it.  I 
remember  best  the  name  under  which  you  once  insulted 
me.)  You  forgive  me?  Had  I  the  time  I  could  laugh. 
Heavens !  But  three  minutes  to  get  into  the  paduasoy !" 

She  did  laugh  as  the  young  nobleman,  a  look  on  his  face 
which  struck  a  kind  of  terror  into  Pamela's  womanly 
heart,  flung  his  hands  out  with  a  menace  and  dashed  from 
the  room. 

"Thank  Heaven,  the  creature's  gone!  Bolt  the  door, 
Mrs.  Bonnets.  I'll  have  no  more  visitors  till  the  play's 
over !" 

Pamela  Pounce  was  not  bidden  to  remain  this  time ;  but 
she  could  not  bring  herself  to  leave  the  dressing-room  until 
Miss  Falcon's  last  appearance  there.  Talk  of  plays! 
What  a  tremendous  play  she  had  seen  that  night.  'Twould 
be  like  walking  out  before  the  last  curtain  dropped  to  go 
home  now. 

When  the  actress  returned  she  was  accompanied  only  by 
Lord  Harborough.  As  he  led  her  in  he  looked  at  her 
hand. 

"I  see,"  he  said,  "you  have  not  honored  my  poor  gift." 

"My  Lord,"  she  said,  "I  have  honored  you  sixty-five 
times  with  these  pearls.  Is  it  not  enough?  As  for  rings, 
there  is  a  slave  weight  about  them.  I  hate  them.  But  is 
this  really  mine  ?  Mine  to  do  as  I  will  with  ?" 

He  smiled  at  each  question,  and  Pamela  thought  that, 
for  all  his  fond  admiration,  there  was  a  sort  of  contemptu- 
ous indulgence  lurking  in  his  glance — that  he  had  the  air 
of  one  who  says  to  himself,  "These  pretty  tricks  are 

219 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


known ;  these  charming  moods  are  part  of  the  little  game. 
I  have  not  the  enthusiasm  of  youth,  but  I  have  experience, 
I  have  toleration,  and  I  have  patience !" 

"It  is  an  elegant  and  artistic  ring,"  said  Miss  Falcon, 
lifting  it  to  the  light  of  the  wax  candles  which  branched 
from  her  mirror.  "A  sapphire,  I  see,  and  all  chased." 

"It  was  found,"  said  Lord  Harborough,  "in  a  Roman 
tomb.  There  is  not  another  like  it  in  the  world !" 

"And  what  does  it  represent?  Oh,  I  see  snakes  about 
that  strange  little  face  1" 

"  'Tis  a  Medusa  head." 

"What  ?"  she  cried.  "What  an  ill  omen  for  an  actress ! 
How  terrible  if  I  were  to  turn  my  audience  to  stone.  Fie, 
I  would  not  keep  such  a  thing  about  me  for  the  world! 
Pray,  Miss  Pounce,  will  you  accept  this  trifle  in  memory 
of  our  first  acquaintance  and  of,  oh,  your  beautiful  hat! 
How  kind  of  you,  dear  girl,  to  stay  and  see  the  last  of  me. 
Why,  it  just  fits  your  finger!  Nay,  I  will  take  no  refusal. 
My  cloak,  Bonnets!  La,  I  am  mortal  tired.  Pray,  my 
Lord,  good-night.  Well,  as  far  as  the  coach,  then,  but  no 
further.  Remember  our  compact!" 

"As  far  as  the  coach,"  said  the  peer  with  his  disillu- 
sioned smile.  "As  far  as  the  coach  at  least,  lovely  mys- 
tery, beautiful  secret!  Oh,  the  Medusa  head  would  have 
been  vastly  appropriate,  I  assure  you !" 

They  went  forth,  and  Pamela  Pounce  stared  at  her 
ring.  She  had  never  felt,  in  all  her  varied  energetic  exist- 
ence, thus  puzzled  and  troubled. 

"Heaven  ha'  mercy,"  she  thought,  "what  a  prodigious 
bit  of  insolence  to  give  it  to  me  under  his  very  nose !  And, 
oh,  lud,  what's  a  body  to  think?  Will  he  marry  her  after 
all  and  my  poor  Miss  Sarah  and  Mr.  W.  be  cut  out?  She 

220 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


wears  his  pearls  and  drives  in  his  coach,  and  yet  withal 

he's  to  lead  her  no  further  than  the  door!" 

/ 

"  'Tis  the  most  dreadful  tale,  child,  that's  current," 
said  my  Lady  Kilcroney  to  her  friend,  Nan  Day,  as  they 
met  in  Madame  Mirabel's  hat  shop.  "They  say  my  young 
Lord  Ashmore  has  put  an  end  to  himself.  I  met  the  Duke 
of  Hampshire  anon,  and  his  Grace  could  scarce  speak,  so 
overwhelmed  was  he.  Lord  Ashmore's  father  was  his 
friend  and  neighbor." 

Pamela  Pounce  put  down  the  dove-colored  capote  she 
had  been  about  to  place  upon  Lady  Anne  Day's  pretty 
head.  She  was  more  affected  than  her  customer,  who 
looked  up,  knitting  her  brows  vaguely,  with  small  interest 
in  her  blue  eyes. 

"Ashmore?" 

"Why,  Nan,  he — that  was  young  Ambrose!  A  pretty 
youth  and  full  of  promise.  It  seems  he  was  mad  in  love 
with  Falcon,  the  actress.  Did  you  see  her  Lady  Teazle 
last  night?  'Twas  a  wonder,  my  love,  but  a  thought  too 
solemn.  But,  oh,  Pounce,  child,  she  had  a  hat!  You 
should  have  seen  it!  With  all  your  art,  you've  never 
dreamed  one  like  it.  Eglantine,  Eglantine  at  her  best. 
Paris  was  stamped  all  over  it.  When  all  is  said  and  done 
there  is  naught  like  the  French  taste." 

"I  have  always  said  so,  my  Lady,"  responded  Miss 
Pounce,  "and  there's  a  case  upstairs  full  of  the  real  Paris 
modes,  of  which  I'd  like  your  Ladyship  to  have  her  pick 
this  moment !  Perhaps  the  last  consignment  we'll  get  for 
goodness  knows  how  long,  seeing  the  trouble  over  there. 
Fetched  at  the  Dover  coach  office  by  our  special  messenger 
not  half  an  hour  ago,  I  do  assure  your  Ladyship." 

Pamela  could  control  her  voice  better  than  her 

221 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


hands,  and  the  professional  patter  escaped  her  almost 
mechanically. 

"But  I  haven't  seen  how  the  capote  suits  me,"  protested 
Nan  Day,  a  little  pettishly.  "Kitty,  what  say  you? 
I've  been  so  long  in  the  fields.  I  was  scarce  fit  to  go  out  in 
a  chair  at  Bath,  so  worn  was  I  with  the  sick-nursing," 
complained  the  squire's  wife,  "I  have  positively  forgot 
what  a  fashion  looks  like.  Sister  Susan  promised  to  meet 
me  here,  and  advise — not  indeed  that  I  care  for  my  Lady 
Verney's  taste.  You  are  ten  thousand  times  better,  my 
dearest  Kitty.  Pray,  give  me  your  opinion." 

"My  love,"  said  Kitty,  "in  all  sober  earnest  I  am  too 
overset  to  be  able  to  give  my  mind  to  it  as  I  ought.  That 
unfortunate  young  man !  It  seems  Lord  Harborough  cast 
him  out  of  her  dressing-room  last  night,  and  there  was  a 
monstrous  great  scandal  at  the  theater  door.  The 
wretched  girl,  my  Lord  Harborough " 

"And  what,  my  Lady,  have  you  heard  of  it  already?" 
said  a  masculine  voice  behind  her,  and  all  started  to  be- 
hold Lord  Verney  in  their  midst.  "I  thought  I  was  the 
first  to  have  wind  of  it,  coming  straight  from  Brooke's. 
'Tis  scarce  an  hour  since  he  was  picked  up  unconscious." 

"Never  say,"  cried  my  Lady  Kilcroney  in  horror,  "that 
he  had  so  little  discretion  as  to  choose  a  club  for  such 
an  act !" 

Lord  Verney  stared. 

"Why,  Madam,  you  speak  as  if  the  poor  Marquis  had 
had  any  choice  in  the  matter?" 

"The  poor  Marquis?  In  Heaven's  name  collect  your 
wits.  'Tis  not  Lord  Harborough  who  has  committed 
suicide  ?" 

"Indeed,  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  the  idea  is  sprung  entirely 
from  your  own  imagination.  Lord  Harborough's  illness  is 

222 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


a  fit.  He  had  scarce  interchanged  a  few  words  with  a 
friend  in  the  club-room  when  he  groaned  and  fell  forward. 
Sir  Richard  Jeb  and  Dr.  Jenner  were  at  once  summoned. 
They  could  not  get  the  blood  to  flow.  He  was  still  breath- 
ing, that  was  all." 

"Well,  'tis  another  old  sinner  gone  to  his  account,"  said 
Nan  Day  philosophically.  "And  Sarah  W.  is  a  Marchion- 
ess— who'd  have  thought  it? — Where  is  Susan?  I'm  not 
sure,  Miss  Pounce,  that  I  really  care  for  a  capote.  Could 
you  not  let  me  see  some  of  those  French  hats  you  spoke 
of  anon?" 

"Ah,  Nan,  you  have  indeed  sadly  lost  touch  with  the 
world,  child !  'Twas  a  magnificent  fine  gentleman,  a  noble 
patron  of  literature  and  art " 

"Aye,  and  of  the  stage,  by  your  own  showing,  Kitty." 
Nan  Day  spoke  smartly.  "Pray,  Miss  Pounce,  did  you 
not  hear  me?" 

Pamela  felt  sick  and  faint.  She  was  glad  enough  of  the 
excuse  to  crawl  away  and  take  a  dose  of  the  hartshorn 
which  was  kept  handy  in  the  workroom  in  hot  weather. 
When  she  returned  to  the  showroom  to  announce  that  the 
case  was  at  that  moment  being  opened — her  head  girl  was 
wrapping  all  last  week's  inspirations  carefully  in  tissue 
for  the  occasion — she  found  the  company  increased  by  my 
Lady  Verney  and  Mrs.  Lafone,  and  that  well-known  per- 
sonage, Beau  Stafford.  He  was  speaking  as  she  entered, 
and  the  first  words  that  caught  her  ear  were  these : 

"I  call  her  Fair  Fatality." 

Mistress  Molly  Lafone's  shrill  accents  were  then  heard. 

"Why,  Mr.  Stafford,"  though  she  was  sister-in-law  to 
the  Beau  there  was  small  love  lost  between  them,  "granting 
the  suicide — to  be  sure,  the  poor  young  man  must  have 

223 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


been  mad — you  cannot  hold  Miss  Falcon  responsible  for 
Lord  Harborough's  seizure." 

"You  know  a  good  deal,  Mistress  Molly,  but  you  don't 
know  everything.  Young  Lord  Ashmore  attacked  the 
Marquis  in  the  street  last  night.  There  was  a  terrible 
scene  between  them.  Aye,  ladies,  all  on  account  of  that 
wild  bird,  the  Falcon.  Lord  Harborough  had  to  call  to 
his  footmen — fact,  I  assure  you!  Only  for  the  scandal, 
he  would  have  handed  his  assailant  to  the  watch.  'Twas 
the  shock  of  hearing  of  the  rash  youth's  dreadful  end.  this 
morning,  that  has  been  the  death  of  him.  Aye,  my  Lord 
Harborough  is  dead.  They  were  pulling  down  the  blinds 
of  Harborough  House  as  I  passed  along  the  Mall." 

"Fair  Fatality,  indeed!"  cried  Kitty.  "And  her  so 
young  and  handsome,  and  not  a  six  months  famous  yet." 

"Oh,  she's  a  cunning  piece !"  interposed  Molly.  "I  have 
heard  tales  of  her  ways.  They  say  none  knows  where  she 
lives,  nor  where  she  comes  from,  nor  her  real  name.  She 
wraps  herself  in  the  utmost  mystery.  Probably,"  went 
on  the  little  lady,  with  her  acid  titter,  "  'tis  some  grocer's 
daughter!  But  poor  simplicity  has  no  chance,  especially 
with  the  gentlemen.  You  must  play  the  romantic." 

My  Lady  Kilcroney,  her  finger  to  her  lips,  seemed  lost 
in  reflection. 

"Was  there  not  a  story  of  a  duel,  Mr.  Stafford?" 

"A  duel,  Madam?  Five,  to  my  certain  knowledge," 
asseverated  the  Beau.  "And  all  with  more  or  less  seri- 
ous results." 

"Pshaw,  'tis  like  an  Italian  tale  of  the  evil  eye!"  Nan 
shuddered.  "I'll  not  go  to  Drury  Lane  and  come  under 
it,  'tis  pos!  Pray,  Miss  Pounce?  Oh,  no,  not  green! 
Green!  Am  1  never  to  get  away  from  it?" 

224 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


Miss  Falcon's  fame  did  not  suffer  from  the  double  trag- 
edy of  which  she  had  been  so  singularly  the  cause.  She 
withdrew  from  the  programs  for  a  week  after  the  funerals 
of  the  two  unfortunate  noblemen,  and  then  reappeared,  to 
play  to  houses  more  crowded,  more  enthusiastic  than  ever. 
The  wild  rumors  which  began  to  circulate  about  her  only 
served  to  increase  the  public  frenzy. 

Pamela  Pounce,  much  occupied  with  the  Walsingham 
mourning,  was  for  some  time  unable  to  gratify  her  desire 
to  see  Fair  Fatality  act  once  more;  a  desire  which — so 
far  was  she  from  sharing  Lady  Anne  Day's  fears — had 
now  indeed  become  a  kind  of  obsession.  When  circum- 
stances permitted  her  at  last  to  indulge  herself,  she  pur- 
chased a  ticket  in  the  forefront  of  the  gallery,  and  pre- 
pared to  enjoy  a  couple  of  hours'  complicated  emotion. 
To  her  amazement,  at  the  end  of  the  second  act  a  note  was 
handed  to  her : 

"/  have  just  seen  your  kind  face.  Will  you  be  a  Friend 
to  me  to-night,  and  come  bach  with  me  to  my  house?  If 
you  can  do  me  this  favor — my  heart  tells  me  you  will 
— meet  me  at  the  stage  door  after  the  last  act. — Felicity 
Falcon." 

At  any  time  the  adventure  was  one  likely  to  tempt  a 
girl  of  Pamela's  spirit.  In  present  circumstances, 
wrought  to  the  highest  pitch  of  excitement  and  interest  by 
the  emotions  of  the  drama  and  the  personality  of  the 
young  play-actress,  the  invitation  came  to  her  as  the 
magic  fulfillment  of  a  dream.  Although  never  had  Miss 
Falcon's  acting  been  more  poignant,  more  intense  in  pas- 
sion and  tragedy,  the  milliner  could  hardly  wait  for  the 
drop  of  the  curtain,  so  eager  was  she  to  enter  upon  what 

225 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


she  could  not  avoid  considering  the  more  thrilling 
drama  still. 

The  crowds  that  packed  the  theater  were  so  immense, 
and  the  determination  to  recall  the  favorite  so  obstinate 
and  prolonged,  that  it  was  after  considerable  delay  that 
Pamela  found  herself  at  last  at  the  stage  door. 

An  elegant,  sober-looking  carriage,  with  servants  in 
dark  liveries,  stood  in  waiting,  and  just  behind  it  a  hack- 
ney coach. 

Miss  Falcon,  hooded  and  cloaked,  escorted  by  a  group 
of  gentlemen,  stepped  forward  and  took  her  hand. 

"I  knew  you  would  come,"  she  whispered.  Her  manner 
was  preoccupied.  "This  is  no  place  for  introductions," 
she  went  on,  turning  to  her  escort.  "Since  it  must  be,  let 
us  even  start." 

"Sheridan,"  said  one  who  walked  in  advance  of  the 
others,  one,  indeed,  whom  the  milliner,  with  a  thumping 
heart,  scarce  dared  recognize  as  the  heir  to  the  throne, 
"you  accompany  the  ladies." 

The  two  women  drew  back  while  he  passed  somewhat  un- 
steadily out  of  the  theater,  and  was  with  discreet  bows 
ushered  to  his  carriage,  by  all  the  gentlemen  of  the  party, 
a  single  member  of  which  then  followed  him  in.  The  car- 
riage, evidently  to  order,  moved  a  few  paces  up  the  street 
and  again  halted,  while  the  hackney  was  drawn  to 
the  door. 

Mr.  Sheridan,  followed  by  the  other  gentlemen,  now 
came  back.  He  offered  his  right  arm  to  Miss  Falcon,  and, 
with  some  exaggeration  of  ceremony,  which  his  com- 
panions seemed  to  find  humorous,  his  left  to  Miss  Pounce. 
After  he  had  handed  the  ladies  into  the  hackney  coach,  he 
paused,  laughing  at  the  door. 

"What  address  shall  I  say,  sweet  Falcon !"  He  raised 

226 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


his  voice,  as  for  the  benefit  of  those  behind  him.    "Now  for 
the  great  disclosure !"  he  cried. 

Fair  Fatality  had  a  cold  smile.  Pamela  could  see  her 
face  by  the  light  of  the  links  each  side  of  the  theater  por- 
tals. It  was  very  pale. 

"Pray,  get  in,  sir,"  she  said ;  "the  man  knows  his  way." 

As  they  drove  off,  Mr.  Sheridan  rubbed  his  hands  and 
laughed  again. 

"To  think  that  I  should  be  sitting  vis-a-vis  the  fairest 
intrigue  in  all  London,  and  actually  be  going  to  solve  the 
mystery!  Though,  to  be  sure,  'tis  no  mystery  to  you, 
ma'am,  I  dare  swear?" 

He  looked  tentatively  at  Pamela  through  the  gloom. 

They  were  turning  out  of  a  by-street  into  the  main 
thoroughfare,  and  Pamela,  casting  her  glance  out  of  the 
window,  was  startled  but  scarcely  surprised  to  see  that 
the  Prince's  carriage  was  very  closely  following  theirs. 

"Why,  Pamela,  my  girl,"  said  the  milliner  to  herself, 
"little  you  thought  when  you  set  out  that  you'd  perhaps 
be  supping  with  Royalty !  But  there's  one  thing  clear. 
You've  got  to  stand  by  this  poor  soul  to-night." 

Mr.  Sheridan  did  not  seem  to  relish  the  idea  of  con- 
versation with  Miss  Falcon's  companion.  Pamela,  who 
from  the  first  had  fancied  that,  though  carrying  his  liquor 
with  decorum,  he  was  far  from  sober,  was  not  sorry  to  *ee 
him  fall  into  a  doze.  Whether  on  her  side  the  actress  was 
asleep  or  not  she  could  not  guess,  but  she  never  moved  nor 
spoke.  The  drive  was  long,  and  Pamela  had  lost  all  her 
sense  of  district  when  the  coach  was  pulled  up  at  last. 
But  Mr.  Sheridan,  waking  with  a  start  and  looking  eagerly 
about  him,  cried: 

"Why,  this  is  the  King's  Road !  I'll  be  hanged  if  that's 
not  the  lodge  of  Elm  Park  House*" 

227 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


"This,  sir,"  said  Miss  Falcon,  "is  Mulberry  House,  my 
poor  abode,  to  which  you  are" — she  paused,  and  altered 
her  phrase — "where  I  am  this  night  privileged  to  re- 
ceive you." 

Pamela  understood  she  would  not  bid  them  welcome. 
At  the  same  moment  the  Royal  carriage  halted  in  its  turn ; 
but  Miss  Falcon,  alighting  quickly,  did  not  pause  to  pay 
the  respect  etiquette  demanded.  She  pushed  open  the 
gate,  and  went  across  the  flagged  courtyard  towards  the 
little  house  which  stood  square  and  solid,  with  pedimented 
portico,  before  them. 

As  Pamela  hurried  after  she  saw  that  a  light  shone 
through  the  cracks  of  the  shuttered  ground-floor  windows. 
Miss  Falcon  inserted  a  key  in  the  lock  and  opened  the 
house  door.  She  drew  Pamela  into  an  oak-paneled  hall, 
dimly  lit  with  a  couple  of  candles  in  a  silver  candelabra, 
and  herself  stood  in  the  aperture. 

She  dropped  a  profound  curtsy  as  the  Prince  appeared, 
followed  by  Mr.  Sheridan  and  that  other  gentleman  whom 
Pamela  supposed  to  be  the  equerry-in-waiting. 

"Forgive  me,  sir" — her  voice  was  low  and  tired,  and  it 
struck  Pamela  that  something  had  gone  out  of  it — the  fire 
and  thrill  and  youthful  pathos  that  had  made  it  every 
moment  an  appeal — "that  you  should  have  such  a  poor 
reception.  Since  I  was  not  prepared  for  the  honor,  since 
it  was  your  pleasure  to  surprise  me  by  this  favor,  I  must 
beg  you  to  take  me  as  I  am.  There  are  no  servants  here 
to-night." 

She  moved  backwards  as  she  spoke.  Theatrical  train- 
ing stood  her  in  good  stead.  The  movement  was  perfect. 

"Will  you  condescend  to  enter?  Mr.  Sheridan,  pray, 
close  the  door  behind  His  Highness." 

She  preceded  the  Prince,  still  backing  easily,  to  a  parlor 

228 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


on  the  right  of  the  entrance.  It  was  a  small,  gay  apart- 
ment, paneled  in  white,  with  double  doors  leading  appar- 
ently into  an  inner  room.  Four  candles  on  the  center 
table,  burning  rather  low  in  their  sockets,  gave  a  fairly 
sufficient  light. 

Pamela,  who  slipped  in  with  some  timidity  in  the  wake 
of  the  party,  perceived  their  hostess's  face  to  be  deathly 
pale,  and  hurried  to  her  side. 

Miss  Falcon  caught  her  hand  with  an  ice-cold  grip. 

It  must  be  confessed  that  the  portly,  elderly  gentleman, 
who  once  for  his  charm  and  youthful  grace  had  been  known 
as  Prince  Florizel,  looked  discomfited  to  confoundment  by 
the  unexpected  strangeness  of  the  situation.  His  two 
companions  stared  at  each  other.  The  sobriety  they  all 
three  needed  seemed  to  be  returning  to  them. 

"Will  Your  Highness  condescend  to  take  a  chair?" 

Still  holding  the  milliner's  warm  hand  the  play-actress 
stood  erect. 

"Sir,  it  has  been  your  pleasure  to  command  the  revela- 
tion of  a  secret  which  concerned  only  my  humble  person. 
I  understand  that  you  have  even  honored  me  so  far  as  to 
make  my  insignificance  the  object  of  a  wager.  I  trust 
I  am  too  obedient  a  subject  to  disobey  my  future  Sov- 
ereign, too  loyal  not  to  assist  him  in  the  gratification  of 
his  sporting  instincts.  With  the  more  readiness,  indeed, 
that  at  four  o'clock  this  afternoon  my  reason  for  wishing 
to  keep  my  unimportant  identity,  my  unobtrusive  abode 

from  the  knowledge  of  the  world  has  ceased  to  exist " 

She  broke  off. 

Not  more  intently  had  the  mighty  audience  hung  upon 
her  lips  to-night  than  did  now  these  four,  her  oddly  enter- 
tained guests.  Pamela's  heart  beat  high.  She  felt  herself 
as  on  the  very  edge  of  some  fathomless  chasm  of  tragedy. 

229 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


"Your  Royal  Highness,"  went  on  Felicity  Falcon,  her 
sweet  voice  hoarse,  "since  it  is  your  pleasure  to  know  it, 

my  name  is  Gwenlian  Morgan.  I  am  the  wife "  A 

spasm  crossed  her  face.  She  caught  her  breath  and  went 
on:  "I  married  one  Evan  Morgan,  a  Welsh  preacher. 
Ours  has  been  a  great  love ;  but  with  him  God  was  always 
first.  He  believed  he  had  a  call  to  London.  We  left  the 
fair  hills  and  our  cottage  for  these  dreadful  streets.  He 
failed.  He  fell  into  a  decline.  We  had  hardly  any  money 
left.  He  could  work  no  more  and  he  would  not  take  charity. 
I  had  to  earn  for  him.  How?  I  had  to  earn  much  and 
quickly  or  he  would  die.  There  was  only  one  way  and 
that  way  an  anathema  to  him.  Td  his  pure  and  lofty 
mind  the  stage  was  always  ruin  and  damnation!" 

Again  there  was  a  brief  silence.  The  equerry  tried  to 
whisper  to  Mr.  Sheridan,  but  that  good-hearted  gentleman 
gave  him  an  angry  scowl.  The  Prince  sat  breathing  hard, 
his  eyes  fixed,  his  mouth  slightly  open. 

"There  was  but  one  way  in  which  I  could  earn  much, 
and  quickly  I  took  it.  I  took  it  in  secret.  I  began  low. 
Fortune  favored  me.  I  was  noticed  behind  the  scenes  by 
one  whose  notice  meant  advancement.  Yes,  sir" — she 
flashed  a  dark  look  at  the  equerry,  who  murmured  a 
name — "my  Lord  Harborough  was  a  generous  patron; 
and  then  all  came  easy.  At  home  I  had  but  to  lie.  Good 
heavens,  how  I  lied  and  plotted  and  contrived  and  de- 
ceived! But  what  did  anything  matter?  There  was  no 
crime  save  unfaithfulness  to  my  Beloved  that  I  would  not 
have  committed  for  his  sake.  I  told  him  I  had  inherited 
a  fortune.  I  kept  him  almost  from  the  first  in  comfort. 
When  I  was  able  to  hire  this  house  I  told  him  I  had  sold 
out  funds  to  do  so.  He  believed  me.  He  trusted  me. 
He  would  as  soon  have  thought  of  doubting  an  angel,  as 

230 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


of  doubting  me.  And  so  I — hoodwinked  him.  It  was  the 
easier  that  he  had  to  keep  to  his  bed.  My  one  servant, 
his  nurse,  deaf  and  silent,  never  pried  into  my  goings  and 
comings.  She  believed,  like  him,  that  they  were  accounted 
for  by  the  chapel  meetings  and  mission- work;  by  neces- 
sary relaxation  and  repose.  I  went  in  and  out  of  this 
house  at  night  by  the  mews  at  the  back.  No  one  ever 
saw  me  enter.  I  took  care  of  that.  To-day — to-day  the 
doctor  came.  He  filled  me  with  more  hope  than  ever  be- 
fore. 'Take  him  to  Italy,'  he  said.  'And  'twill  be  a 
cure !'  With  four  thousand  pounds  in  the  bank " 

She  stopped  so  suddenly  that  Pamela  cast  an  arm  about 
her,  fearing  she  might  fall;  but  she  clasped  a  rigid 
strength.  Mr.  Sheridan  raised  his  quizzing  glass  to  stare 
at  the  actress's  countenance ;  into  her  pale  cheeks  a  fierce 
color  had  risen.  She  was  amazingly  beuutiful. 

"And  so,  my  dear  Miss  Falcon — my  dear  Mrs.  Mor- 
gan," he  cried  curiously,  "you  took  the  favorable  moment 
of  confessing  your  subterfuge,  your  freroic  subterfuge,  to 
your  pious  husband !  How  did  he  bear  it  ?  A  Welshman 
and  a  chapel  man !  I  trust  it  was  not  a  shock." 

Her  eyes  turned  upon  him  as  if  she  were  bereft  of  the 
power  of  understanding. 

"Mr.  Sheridan  means,  ma'am,"  cried  the  equerry  im- 
patiently, "how  did  the  good  preacher  bear  the  awful  reve- 
lation? Did  you  not  yourself  say  that  at  four  o'clock — 
four,  wasn't  it,  Sherry? — the  great  Falcon  mystery  ceased 
to  exist." 

"You  are  right,  sir,"  said  Fair  Fatality.  "When  I  re- 
turned from  rehearsal  this  afternoon  I  found — I  saw — I 
knew — there  was  no  secret  between  us  any  more !  You 
want  to  know  so  much  about  me,  all  of  you."  Her  voice 

231 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


rose  suddenly  and  piercingly.  "Your  curiosity  shall  be 
gratified  to  the  end." 

She  moved  away  from  Pamela  with  a  steady  step,  flung 
open  the  folding  doors,  and  pointed  into  the  room  revealed 
with  a  single  magnificent  gesture. 

Grasping  the  elbows  of  his  chair,  fuddled,  inquisitive, 
the  Prince  of  Wales  lifted  himself  to  stare.  Mr.  Sheridan 
took  two  strides  and  brought  himself  up  with  an  ejacula- 
tion. And  "Damn  me!"  cried  the  equerry,  in  accents  of 
anger  and  fear.  "This  is  a  dashed  low  trick!" 

There  was  no  need  for  any  one  to  cast  a  second  glance 
into  that  room.  The  lights  and  the  flowers,  the  rigid 
figure  on  the  bed,  covered  with  a  white  sheet,  told  their 
own  story.  The  genial  party  were  looking  upon  death. 

"Oh,  you  poor  creature !  You  poor,  unhappy  dear !" 
cried  Pamela  Pounce,  bursting  into  hot  tears  and  catching 
the  Falcon  to  her  heart. 

The  preacher's  wife  abandoned  herself  to  the  embrace; 
but  only  for  the  span  of  a  moment,  not  for  the  relief  of 
tears,  not  for  the  comfort  of  another  woman's  tenderness, 
but  because,  just  for  that  little  while,  every  power  fell  into 
suspense.  When  she  disengaged  herself  they  were  alone 
with  the  dead.  Royalty  and  its  boon  companions  had 
seized  the  opportunity  to  retire  from  a  scene  so  discom- 
forting. 

Felicity  turned  an  abstracted  gaze  into  the  dining- 
room;  it  was  clear  to  Pamela  that  her  visitors,  Royalty 
and  all,  were  of  less  consequence  in  her  mind  than  the  stray 
moth  that  fluttered  round  the  candles. 

"Will  you  look  at  him?"  said  the  widow. 

Pamela  wished  that  she  would  cry  or  swoon.  This 
composure  was  terrible.  Sobbing  herself,  she  was  drawn 
to  the  bedside,  and,  as  Felicity  lifted  the  sheet,  gazed 

232 


THREE  BLACK  FEATHERS 


down  upon  the  quiet,  beautiful  face.  The  play-actress 
bent  and  kissed  the  young  forehead  set  in  such  majestic 
peace  and  replaced  the  coverlet,  rearranging  the  white 
roses  after  she  had  done  so.  Then  once  more  she  took 
her  companion  by  the  arm,  led  her  back  into  the  dining- 
room,  and  closed  the  folding  doors. 

"Now  you  must  drink  a  glass  of  wine  with  me,"  she 
said,  "before  you  go." 

"But  I  will  stay  with  you." 

"No.  No.  The  coach  is  waiting  for  you.  The  driver 
will  take  you  safe  back.  I  prefer  to  be  alone." 

She  went  to  a  cupboard  and  drew  out  a  decanter  and 
a  couple  of  glasses,  and  while  Pamela  sat  and  mopped 
her  eyes  with  a  drenched  handkerchief,  and  bit  her  lip  to 
keep  down  the  rising  sob,  and  chid  herself  for  a  poor, 
vaporous  wretch  no  use  to  any  one,  the  woman  who  had 
lost  her  all  poured  out  the  wine  with  a  steady  hand ;  and 
with  a  steady  hand  did  something  else  besides. 

She  brought  the  glasses  to  the  table,  gave  one  to 
Pamela,  and  stood  watching  her  while  she  drank. 

Then  she  sat  down  beside  her,  and,  still  holding  her  own 
full  glass  between  taper  fingers,  leaned  across  and  said: 

"Kiss  me,  my  dear,  and  thank  you.  When  I  went  back 
to  him  after  the  rehearsal  to-day,  so  full  of  joy,  the 
woman  said  he  was  asleep  and  I  bent  to  kiss  him,  and,  oh, 
his  lips  were  cold !  His  lips  were  cold !  Yours  are  warm. 
I  wish  I'd  known  you  before.  We  should  have  been 
friends.  Nay,  'tis  as  well!  I  might  have  brought  mis- 
fortune to  you  as  to  the  others.  'Tis  better  as  it  is," 
she  repeated  rather  wildly. 

And  when  sobbing  that  her  own  story  was  told  and  that 
she  knew,  too,  what  a  broken  heart  meant,  Pamela  would 

233 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


have  kissed  her  again,  Felicity  pushed  her  from  her  and 
drank  quickly. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  Pamela  drew  herself  phys- 
ically and  mentally  together,  twisted  her  handkerchief, 
patted  her  curls,  wiped  her  eyes  a  last  time,  then,  in  the 
tone  of  one  firmly  determined  on  the  right  course  of  action : 

"The  coach  may  go,  I'll  not  leave  you !"  she  cried. 

She  broke  off.  Was  it  the  scent  of  the  flowers  from 
the  death-chamber,  or  some  curious  flavor  in  the  wine? 
She  was  all  at  once  aware  of  a  singular,  intense  smell  of 
almonds  in  the  air. 

"Miss  Falcon,  Mrs.  Morgan,  my  dear !  Oh,  you're  faint, 
you're  ill,  and  no  wonder  1" 

She  clutched  the  sinking  figure,  but  Fair  Fatality  had 
acted  her  last  tragedy. 

Pamela  Pounce  never  wore  the  Medusa  ring.  She 
dared  not ;  but  she  kept  it  all  her  life. 


CHAPTER  XI 

IN    WHICH   THEEE   IS    A    PBODIGIOUS    SCANDAL   ABOUT    PINK 

FLOUNCES 

NONE  ever  knew  the  share  which  Pamela  had  taken  in 
Felicity  Falcon's  last  night  on  earth. 

She  had  laid  the  slender  figure  as  decently  and  respect- 
fully as  she  could,  on  a  couch ;  kissed  the  cold  cheek  once 
more  and  walked  out  of  the  house. 

Those  who  would  find  her  in  the  morning  must  make 
what  they  could  of  the  story.  Pamela  had  her  own  life 
and  those  dependent  on  her  to  consider.  She  could  not 
afford  to  be  mixed  up  with  a  scandal. 

Whether  the  chapel  people  to  whose  ranks  the  young 
preacher  had  belonged  were  desirous  of  hushing  up  the 
evidence  which  might  bring  discredit  upon  them,  or 
whether  it  was  really  believed  that  Mrs.  Morgan  had  died 
of  a  heart-stroke  brought  on  by  grief  did  not  transpire. 
They  were  buried  together  and  given  a  very  pious  funeral 
with  much  preaching  and  psalm-singing. 

The  event  made  a  profound  impression  upon  Pamela; 
it  revived  the  cruel  emotions  of  her  recent  personal  ex- 
perience. 

She  had  seen  what  love  meant  as  never  before;  she 
understood  its  fearful  supremacy,  and  how  little  anything 
else  mattered  beside  it  in  life.  There  were  times  when 
she  even  envied  Felicity  Falcon;  true,  she  had  loved  to 
desperation  and  death ;  but  she  had  loved  and  been  loved 
with  a  noble  purity  and  faithfulness ! 

The  memory  of  the  young  Welsh  preacher's  dead  face, 

235 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


radiantly  innocent,  and  of  the  triumph,  set  in  agony,  of 
the  actress's  countenance  as  she  had  last  seen  it,  haunted 
her  continually.  Death  had  stamped  on  their  mortal  love 
the  seal  of  Eternity. 

Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs  had  lain  in  wait,  the  whole  warm 
June  sunset  hour,  till  Miss  Pounce  should  emerge  from 
the  side  door  of  the  shut-up  shop;  he  followed  the  erect, 
briskly  walking  figure  with  due  discretion  and  only  per- 
mitted himself  to  catch  her  up  at  the  corner  of  Berkeley 
Square.  Then  he  accosted  her. 

"Don't,  I  do  beseech  you,"  he  cried,  quickly  forestalling 
the  fierce  repudiation  in  her  eye,  "don't  refuse  to  listen! 
I  have  not  come  after  you  to  insult  you,  I  haven't,  upon 
my  honor !  Pamela,  I  want  to  apologize.  I  want  to  ask 
your  pardon." 

His  tone  was  so  imploring  and  respectful,  he  looked  so 
eager,  so  gallant  and  handsome  too,  in  the  rosy  amber 
light,  as  he  bent  towards  her,  bare-headed,  that  her 
weapon  of  pride  seemed  broken  in  her  hand. 

She  tried  to  say  with  dignity:  "There's  nothing  more 
that  I  ever  wish  to  hear  from  you,  Mr.  Bellairsj"  but  her 
voice  faltered,  and  a  sudden  tear  in  each  eye  betrayed  her. 

"See,"  he  went  on  eagerly,  "the  gate  of  the  garden  there 
is  open.  Let  us  go  in  and  sit  on  that  bench.  Just  for  a 
little  while !  Five  minutes !  One  minute !" 

Pamela,  shaking  her  head  and  exclaiming:  "No,  sir,  nay, 
Mr.  Bellairs,  I  cannot  listen,  'tis  impossible !  'Tis  wrong ! 
'Tis  folly!"  nevertheless  allowed  herself  to  be  drawn  into 
the  cool  green  tree-shadowed  spot,  and  actually  sat  down 
on  the  suggested  seat. 

He  did  not  as  much  as  offer  her  his  hand;  yet  his 
urgency  drove  her  almost  with  a  physical  force. 

236 


"Oh,  Pamela,"  he  cried,  letting  himself  fall  beside  her, 
and  clasping  his  hands  and  wringing  them,  "can  you  con- 
ceive what  I  felt  when  I  heard  that  'twas  you — you ! — oh, 
my  generous  girl — who  paid  my  debt?  And  to  think  now 
the  first  use  I  made  of  my  liberty  was  to  offend  you  so 
grossly." 

Pamela  swallowed  a  sob. 

"  'Tis  over  and  done  with  now,  Mr.  Bellairs.  Let  me 
forget." 

She  tried  to  rise,  but  he  caught  a  fold  of  her  dress. 

"One  moment  more,  if  you  have  a  woman's  heart.  Nay, 
you  see  how  anxious  I  am  not  to  presume.  I  will  go  on 
my  knees  if  you  like. — Oh,  Pamela,  when  I  went  to  pay 
back  my  Lord  his  ninety-seven  pound  ten,  out  of  that 
pocketful  of  money  you  know  of,  and  he  stared  at  me  and : 
'Why  man,'  says  he,  'I  never  thought  to  see  you  this  morn- 
ing.' Her  Ladyship  was  in  one  of  her  bad  ways  and  sure, 
if  it  was  I  had  been  in  the  sponging  house  she'd  not  have 
out  with  a  farthing !  'I've  been  but  waiting  for  a  better 
moment,'  says  he.  'Then,  who  in  the  name  o'  God?'  cries 
I,  cutting  him  short.  Pamela,  I  lost  no  time  in  making 
my  congee  to  my  Lord  and  I  ran  all  the  way  to  that  fellow 
Jobbins,  I  promise  you ;  'for  I'll  get  to  the  bottom  of  this,' 
I  cried.  'And  'twas  a  lady  veiled,'  quoth  he,  and  stuck 
to  it,  and  the  fool  that  I  am,  must  needs  think  my  cousin 
Kitty  was  playing  a  sort  of  game  with  me;  ashamed  not 
to  pay  for  me,  but  the  stingy  thing !  mortal  afraid  lest  I 
should  ask  her  again !  And  I  went  back  again  to  Hertford 
Street  to  make  a  further  exhibition  of  myself." 

Here  Pamela  could  not  keep  from  laughter. 

"You  laugh !  'Tis  all  I  deserve.  Indeed,  'twas  a  mon- 
strous absurd  scene !  But  my  Lady  pretty  soon  convinced 
me  that  the  magnanimity  I  ascribed  to  her  was  unknown 

237 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


to  that  bit  of  strass  she  calls  her  heart.  By  the  Lord,  I 
think  I  was  mad  that  morning  altogether !  I  hardly  know 
how  I  got  out  of  Hertford  Street  once  more  and  all  the 
way  down  to  Jobbins,  for  the  thought  had  dawned ! — I've 
not  so  many  friends  you  see,  Pamela !  'A  tall,  fine  figure 
of  a  lady,'  says  he,  'stepping  as  clean  as  your  own  sorrel 
filly,  Mr.  Jocelyn.  And  I  caught,'  says  he,  *a  gleam  of 
hair  under  her  veil — now,  if  you'll  run  your  eye  down  the 
row  in  there,'  says  he,  jerking  his  thumb  towards  his 
stables,  'you'll  see,  third  from  the  door,  a  bit  of  gloss  on 
a  hack's  back  that's  just  the  same  color.'  And  so  I  knew," 
added  Jocelyn,  with  a  sudden  drop  from  his  tone  of  mim- 
icry, into  accents  of  real  emotion. 

Pamela  set  her  teeth  upon  her  trembling  lip.  She  made 
a  desperate  effort  after  her  usual  fine  air  of  independence. 

"  'Twas  when  we  were  friends  I'll  have  you  remember, 
Mr.  Bellairs,"  she  said,  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"Ah,  but  Pamela,  let  us  be  friends  now,"  he  spoke  with 
a  boyish  earnestness,  which  made  him  infinitely  more  at- 
tractive than  in  his  most  dashing  mood  of  sparkishness. 
"  'Tis  for  that  I  have  sought  you.  I  want  your  forgive- 
ness. I  want  your  friendship.  Let  me  see  you  sometimes, 
as  a  friend,  a  most  respectful  friend,  honored  by  your 
acquaintance.  I  am  a  wretched,  worthless  fellow,"  he  went 
on,  with  a  kind  of  bitter  humility.  "I  can't  even  pay  you 
back  your  loan,  now,  Pamela.  But  grant  me  a  chance. 
Let  me  show  myself  better  than  you  have  known  me.  'Pon 
honor,  it  would  give  me  something  to  hope  for,  just  to 
think  you'd  let  me  see  you  now  and  again,  in  a  kindly 
way;  that  you  had  not  cast  me  altogether  out  of  your 
life." 

It  was  the  acknowledgment  that  he  couldn't  pay  her 
back  that  softened  Miss  Pounce's  obduracy  towards  him. 

238 


A  PRODIGIOUS  SCANDAL 


She  consented  to  forgive  him,  to  consider  him  as  a  friend, 
even  to  admit  the  possibility  that  if  they  met — oh,  quite 
accidentally ! — on  an  off  day,  she  mightn't  refuse  to  take 
a  stroll  with  him  in  the  Green  Park. 

It  would  seem  as  if  nothing  had  changed:  as  if  she  was 
the  same  too  trusting,  foolish  girl,  and  he  the  same  sly, 
audacious  villain;  yet,  as  she  determinedly  parted  from 
him  and  hurried  out  of  the  garden  to  her  lodging,  she 
knew  that  there  had  come  a  profound  alteration  into  their 
relations. 

Meanwhile  the  enmity,  excited  in  the  bosoms  of  Miss 
Smithson  and  Miss  Popple  against  the  successful  mil- 
liner was  far  from  abating.  Indeed  the  mature  young 
lady  who  had  hoped  for  Pamela  Pounce's  present  position 
had  an  ever-gathering  sense  of  grievance.  What  if  she 
had  a  heavy  hand?  Were  there  not  solid  dowagers  and 
others  who  preferred  substance  and  money's  worth  to  your 
fly-away  gossamer  nothings? 

Between  these  two  important  members  of  Madame  Mira- 
bel's establishment,  there  had  come  to  be  a  tacit  under- 
standing— though  they  were  far  too  genteel  and  high- 
minded  to  indulge  in  anything  like  a  conspiracy — that  it 
was  their  bounden  duty,  in  dear  Madame  Mirabel's  inter- 
ests, to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  on  Miss  Pounce  and  report 
any  proceedings  of  hers  calculated  to  injure  them. 

"As,  of  course,  my  dear,  poor  Anna-Maria,"  Clara 
Smithson  would  declare  of  her  rich  business  relative,  "is 
that  good-natured,  that  times  and  times  I've  had  to  step 
in,  as  it  were,  and  save  her  from  herself." 

Miss  Popple  was  too  tactful  to  request  specification. 

"La,  you  never  say,  dear !"  she  would  exclaim,  with  un- 
flagging emphasis.  "And  what  a  good  thing  it  is  that 

239 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


she's  got  you,  the  poor  kind  creature!  'Tis  what  we  all 
feel." 

The  while  her  private  thoughts  would  run  contemptu- 
ously : 

"As  if  every  one  didn't  know,  you  long-toothed  old 
frump,  that  'tis  you  Madame  keeps  on  out  of  charity,  and 
has  the  books  regular  checked  by  a  spry  young  gentleman 
from  the  bank  every  Saturday  night,  private,  or  they'd 
be  in  the  muddle  of  the  world  before  the  month  was  out !" 

Miss  Clara  Smithson's  secret  opinion  of  Miss  Popple 
was  probably  no  more  complimentary;  but  it  is  in  the 
nature  of  things  that  worthy  individuals,  working  for  a 
common  cause,  should  sink  personal  feelings;  and,  there- 
fore, when  Miss  Smithson  made  the  appalling  discovery 
in  connection  with  the  pink  flounced  muslin  of  a  Sunday 
afternoon,  it  was  Miss  Popple  to  whom  she  confided  it 
the  first  thing  on  Monday  morning. 

That  Sunday  afternoon  being  a  remarkably  fine  day, 
Miss  Smithson  had  accepted  the  offer  of  the  married 
nephew  in  the  Tobacco  Trade,  who  was  particularly  civil 
to  her  in  view  of  her  reported  savings,  to  drive  with  him 
in  a  hackney  as  far  as  Richmond  Park,  and  partake  of  a 
choice  refection  of  ale  and  winkles  by  the  riverside.  Now, 
as  the  hackney  was  rolling  along  the  highway  towards 
Richmond,  they  passed  a  cottage  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town;  a  quite  superior  cottage  residence  with  an  em- 
bowered garden,  honeysuckle,  and  roses.  In  this  garden, 
upon  a  rustic  chair,  a  young  woman  was  seated  with  a 
child  upon  her  lap.  She  wore  a  conspicuous  dress  of  pink 
muslin.  Her  head,  which  was  bent  over  the  child,  was 
bare,  unpowdered,  and  clothed  with  a  profusion  of  bright 
chestnut  tresses.  The  child's  face,  Miss  Smithson  was 

240 


A  PRODIGIOUS  SCANDAL 


able  to  observe,  was  very  dark,  almost  foreign-looking, 
and  its  little  curly  pate  coppery-red. 

There  was  something  familiar  in  the  attitude  of  the 
young  person  in  the  flaring  frock,  and  Miss  Smithson,  who 
was  not  a  rapid  thinker,  puzzled  over  it  most  of  the  after- 
noon. Towards  the  end  of  her  last  glass  of  ale,  neglecting 
the  tempting  offer  of  a  final  winkle  which  the  devoted 
nephew  was  extending  to  her  on  his  tie-pin,  she  clapped 
her  hands  and  cried : 

"I  have  it !" 

Being  asked  to  explain  this  strange  diversion  from  the 
business  of  the  hour,  she  declined,  and  it  was  only  into  the 
sympathetic  bosom  of  Miss  Popple  that  she  now  unfolded 
her  theories. 

"Pamela  Pounce  it  was,  my  dear,  as  I'm  a  living  sinner ! 
There's  not  another  head  like  that  on  the  town,  I'll  swear! 
And  a  little  black  child  on  her  lap,  as  bold  as  brass !  Miss 
is  so  fashionable,  too,  as  we  all  know.  Foh,  the  hussy! 
It  really,"  said  the  virtuous  Miss  Smithson,  "makes  me 
shudder !" 

And  shudder  she  did,  till  Miss  Popple  thought  she  heard 
her  bones  rattle. 

"I  always  said,"  said  Polly  Popple,  "that  there  was 
something  mysterious  about  that  young  woman's  private 
life.  Dark,  did  you  say,  dear?  We  all  know  the  com- 
plexion of  the  young  gentleman  that  used  to  come  here 
after  Miss  Pounce.  And  she's  been  seen  with  him  in  the 
Green  Park  agajn,  most  audacious  of  late.  And  what's 
to  be  done  now,"  she  cried  in  a  virtuous  passion,  "to  get 
her  out  of  the  house,  and  not  have  her  contaminating  us 
respectable  females?  Let's  to  Madame  Mirabel  this  mo- 
ment !" 

"Beware  how  you  do  such  a  thing!"  exclaimed  Miss 

241 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Smithson,  horror-struck.  "Tut,  Polly !  We've  got  to  get 
things  a  vast  more  circumspect  before  we  take  such  pre- 
cipitous action.  The  first  thing  to  find  out  is  whether 
Miss  Pounce  has  a  gown  of  that  impudent  color." 

"I'll  ask  her  this  minute!"  exclaimed  Popple,  springing 
up  from  the  little  horsehair  chair  and  making  for  the  door. 

"And  if  we  do  bring  it  home  to  her,  Polly,"  pursued 
Miss  Smithson,  clutching  her  friend's  fat  wrist,  "far  be  it 
from  me  to  be  hard  on  a  fellow  creature,  however  per- 
verted and  brazen.  I'd  rather  put  the  matter  before  Miss 
Pounce  herself — aye  and  before  that  good  creature,  her 
aunt,  my  Lady  Kilcroney's  woman,  who's  had  a  mort  of 
trouble  with  her  already — and  get  the  abandoned  gal  to 
send  in  her  resignation ;  rather  than  upset  my  cousin ! 
Anna  Maria  has  a  weak  heart." 

Polly  Popple  pondered.  Both  prudent  virgins  ex- 
changed a  look.  It  dawned  upon  these  sensitive  con- 
sciences that  Madame  Mirabel  might  not  be  of  their  way 
of  thinking;  might,  in  fine,  be  disposed  to  put  modes  be- 
fore morals,  especially  as  custom  was  increasing  every  day 
and  the  fame  of  Pounce  millinery  spreading  far  and  wide. 

"Maybe  you're  right,"  said  Polly  thoughtfully.  "Well, 
I'll  be  back  as  soon  as  I  can,  dear,  and  let  you  know  what 
I've  drawn  out  of  her." 

The  showroom  was  empty  of  custom,  the  hour  being 
still  early,  and  Pamela,  singing  a  little  song  under  her 
breath, -was  engaged,  with  the  bright  energy  which  charac- 
terized her,  in  superintending  the  disposal  of  the  wares. 
She  had  fanciful  schemes  of  color  differing  with  each 
day,  and  subtly  suited  to  the  mood  most  likely  to  be  en- 
gendered by  the  weather.  Thus,  on  a  cold,  bleak  autumn 
afternoon  you  might  find  a  flamingo  flame  of  feather  call- 
ing you  through  the  glass ;  and  on  a  torrid  July  morning 

242 


A  PRODIGIOUS  SCANDAL 


such  as  the  present,  the  coolest  and  most  ethereal  creams 
and  grays ;  or  a  rustic  straw  with  a  wreath  of  moon  daisies 
that  would  set  you  dreaming  of  the  country.  Even  such 
a  creation  was  Miss  Pounce  now  holding  in  her  hand  when, 
rather  out  of  breath — for  she  was  of  a  stout  habit  and 
a  congested  type  of  comeliness — Polly  Popple  came  heavily 
up  to  her. 

"And,  pray,  Miss  Pounce,"  said  the  assistant,  while,  at 
the  abruptness  of  the  address,  unprecedented  by  the  usual 
"Good-morning"  all  the  young  ladies  turned  to  stare — 
"pray,  Miss  Pounce,  was  you  by  any  chance  Richmond 
way  yesterday?" 

Polly  was  no  diplomatist. 

"And  what's  that  to  you,  Miss  Popple?"  responded 
Pamela.  "As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was ;  but  'tain't  none  of 
your  business,  as  I'm  aware !  Girls,  what  are  you  doing?" 

Pamela  scented  mischief  and  resented  the  tone  of  the 
question,  which  rang  in  unmistakable  challenge.  Never- 
theless, she  remained  good-humored. 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  other  darkly,  "  'tis  more  my  busi- 
ness than  you  think  of.  Might  I  further  inquire  if  you 
was  wearing  a  pink  gown,  Miss?" 

"Yes,  Popple,  I  was.  A  pink  gown,  flounced  to  the 
waist,  muslin.  A  sweet  thing  it  is,  and  suits  me  uncommon. 
Perhaps  you'd  like  to  know  if  I  wear  a  white  bouffand  to 
it,  and  the  style  of  hat?" 

"Oh,  never  mind  the  hat,  Miss  Pounce !  Since  you  are 
so  obleeging  as  to  permit  me  another  question,  might  I 
ask  if  you  was  a-setting  in  a  garden  a-holding  of  a  child 
upon  your  lap?" 

The  color  flew  like  a  flag  to  the  head  milliner's  cheek 
and  fire  to  her  eye.  Then  she  abruptly  turned  her  back 
upon  the  questioner,  and  the  youngest  assistant,  who  hap- 

243 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


pened  to  be  taking  a  hat  out  of  a  drawer,  was  surprised 
to  see  that  she  was  struggling  with  a  violent  inclination 
to  laugh. 

"Ho !" 

The  ejaculation  leaped  with  a  world  of  horror  from 
Polly's  lips. 

Her  superior  wheeled  back  upon  her. 

"Yes,  Miss  Popple,  I  was  sitting  in  a  garden,  and  very 
pleasant  it  was  among  the  roses ;  and  I  had  a  child  upon 
my  lap,  the  dearest,  sweetest  little  creature  that  ever 
breathed,  a  perfect  cherub !  A  girl,  if  you  want  to  know, 
Miss  Popple,  and  though  dark,  like  to  be  a  beauty." 

The  young  ladies  tittered,  though  there  were  looks  in- 
terchanged, too.  And  Pamela's  tone,  tripped  up  with 
subterranean  mirth,  sounded  to  some  of  them  rather  hys- 
terical. 

Polly,  after  a  dumb  show  of  wounded  female  delicacy, 
expressively  rendered,  tottered  from  the  room  as  if  her 
legs  could  scarce  carry  so  much  horrified  rectitude;  and 
the  incident  apparently  dropped.  Indeed,  Pamela  re- 
garded it  merely  as  another  of  Popple's  nasty  bits  of 
spleen.  A  low-minded,  common  creature !  As  if  her  girls 
would  be  taken  in  by  such  vile  suggestions !  As  if  the  life 
of  Pamela  Pounce,  head  milliner,  was  not  as  fresh  and 
fair  as  her  own  face! 

An  episode  which  Pamela  could  not  but  consider  as 
curious  in  the  circumstances  presently  occurred  and  drove 
the  very  existence  of  Popple  from  her  mind. 

A  carriage  drew  up  to  the  door,  early  as  it  was — ten 
o'clock  had  not  yet  struck — and  a  customer  entered;  a 
short,  dark  young  woman  of  a  marked  type  of  Spanish 
beauty,  who  walked  with  a  bold  cadence  of  the  hips  that 
set  her  maize  silk  panniers  swinging,  and  a  carriage  of 

244 


A  PRODIGIOUS  SCANDAL 


the  head  that  you  might  call  like  that  of  a  fawn  or  of  a 
serpent,  as  your  feelings  towards  her  prompted. 

Pamela  advanced  in  her  most  engaging  manner. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Madam?"  She  broke  off. 
"Merciful  heavens!"  something  within  her  cried.  "I 
should  know  that  face." 

The  newcomer  fixed  her  with  beautiful,  insolent  eyes. 
There  was  a  gleam  of  rubies  in  each  delicate  ear,  and  at 
the  dusky  round  throat  a  red  fire  that  came  and  went  from 
a  monstrous  clasp  of  the  same  stones,  half-hidden  by  laces. 

"If  you  will  show  me  a  hat,  all  black,  with  black 
feathers,"  began  the  lady.  She  had  a  slow  voice,  rich  like 
cream,  and  an  odd  guttural  aspiration  of  the  consonants. 
"Something  with  the  Spanish  air." 

In  her  turn,  she  stopped  short.  The  milliner  had  fallen 
back  a  pace,  and  was  looking  at  her  with  horror. 

"I  think,"  said  Pamela,  very  low  but  very  distinctly, 
"that  you  have  entered  this  establishment  by  mistake." 

The  foreign  lady  wheeled  upon  her.  There  was  no  doubt 
about  it,  with  all  her  beauty  she  was  viperish. 

"Fool,  my  name  is  the  Countess  Sanquhar  1" 

"And  a  very  fit  name  for  you,  too !"  responded  Pamela. 

Upon  which  extraordinary  observation  she  herself 
opened  the  door  and  stood  until  the  visitor  passed  out. 

You  may  be  a  beauty,  and  you  may  be  the  lawful  wife 
of  an  English  peer,  but  it  is  difficult  to  keep  your  dignity 
when  you  are  turned  out  of  a  shop  by  a  miserable  working 
woman  as  if  you  were  the  last  of  the  last.  Only  by  doing 
murder  on  her  offender  could  the  notorious  Lady  Sanqu- 
har, who  had  been  once  the  respected  wife  of  an  honest 
Spanish  merchant,  have  redeemed  the  situation  from  utter 
ignominy.  But  as  she  could  not  do  murder  in  actual  fact. 

245 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


she  only  did  it  with  her  eyes,  as,  swaying  more  than  ever, 
she  went  forth. 

Pamela  shut  the  door ;  the  four  assistants  stared  at  her 
with  one  accord.  They  had  not  known  such  an  exciting 
morning  for  a  long  time. 

"Upon  my  word,  Miss  Pounce,"  said  Poppy  Popple, 
"you  take  a  deal  upon  yourself,  you  do." 

Pamela  sat  down,  rather  white  about  the  lips,  breathing 
quickly  through  dilated  nostrils. 

"If  it  had  got  known  that  I'd  sold  as  much  as  a  feather 
to  that  creature,"  she  said,  "Madame  Mirabel  might  as 
well  put  up  her  shutters,  for  there's  not  a  lady  of  quality 
would  have  crossed  the  threshold  of  her  showroom  again." 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN    WHICH    MY   LADY   KIL.CRONEY   INSISTS    ON    THE   DUTY   OP 

MORALITY 

"TF  you  please,  my  Lady,  might  I  speak  to  your  Lady- 

1   ship?" 

My  Lady  Kilcroney  looked  up  from  the  sorrows  of 
Miss  Clarissa  Harlowe,  which  she  was  particularly  enjoy- 
ing, and  gazed  at  her  handmaiden. 

Lydia  Pounce  and  her  mistress  had  gone  through,  to- 
gether, so  many  emotions,  intrigues,  quarrels,  reconcilia- 
tions, triumphs,  and  despairs  that  it  was  scarcely  too  much 
to  say  they  had  become  indispensable  to  each  other. 
Therefore,  too,  both  had  grown  to  read  each  other's  coun- 
tenance with  the  utmost  facility.  Now,  Lydia  was  pale 
and  pinched;  her  knobby  little  hands  were  clasping  each 
other  fiercely  across  her  neat  waistband;  she  was  visibly 
trembling.  Lady  Kilcroney  knew  these  symptoms. 

"What  is  to  do,  Lydia?" 

"Ho,  my  Lady!" 

The  Abigail  here  clutched  at  her  heart  and  turned  up 
her  eyes. 

"Dear  me,  Lydia,"  said  her  Ladyship  tartly,  "have  they 
ventured  to  laugh  again  in  the  pantry  as  you  happened 
to  be  passing,  or  has  any  one  broken  into  the  safe  and 
stolen  my  diamonds?" 

"Ho,  your  Ladyship,  you  may  well  ask.  Heaven  knows 
I'm  prepared  from  this  out  to  be  the  laughing  stock  of  this 
house.  Every  one  may  point  the  finger  of  scorn  at  me. 
The  name  of  Pounce  is  forever  blasted !  As  for  thieves, 

247 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


my  Lady,  there  are  worse  thieves  than  will  ever  be  hanged, 
walking  about  this  moment,  and  treasures  stolen  of  value 
far  above  diamonds !" 

"Dear  me !" 

"Her  Ladyship  wouldn't  be  so  easy  with  her  'dear  meV 
if  she  knew  what's  happened.  'Tis  gospel  truth,  my  Lady, 
and  I'm  telling  no  falsehood,  that  the  thought  of  having  to 
inform  your  Ladyship  is  the  bitterest  part  of  the  sorrow 
that  has  come  upon  me  this  day !" 

Kitty  Kilcroney  put  down  her  book.  Seeing  that  her 
maid's  eyes  were  genuinely  tear-stained,  and  that  the  con- 
vulsive shiverings  were  not  all  assumed,  she  began  to 
feel  concern. 

"Dear  me!"  she  said,  again,  in  quite  another  tone.  "I 
trust  nothing  has  happened  to  your  family — your  good 
brother,  or  any  of  the  children?" 

She  broke  off.  Lydia,  who  was  making  the  most  dread- 
ful grimaces,  here  flung  her  little  muslin  apron  over  her 
head  and  sobbed  behind  it. 

"It'll  break  my  brother's  heart,  him  so  respected  on  his 
own  property,  as  old  in  the  name  as  gentry,  yeomen  these 
hundreds  of  years,  and  only  for  bad  times  none  of  them 
ever  looking  to  service.  And  ho !  my  Lady,  him  setting 
such  store  by  that  girl,  and  me  so  proud  of  her  !" 

"That  girl !    You  don't  mean  Pamela  ?" 

Lydia  dropped  the  apron. 

"I  do.  The  horrid,  wicked  creature.  And  ho,  my  Lady, 
it  all  comes  of  encouraging  idle  young  gentlemen  and  pay- 
ing their  debts  for  them  and  letting  them  off  going  to 
India,  and  if  the  name  of  Pounce  is  blasted,  the  name  of 
Bellairs  ain't  much  better,  and  so  I  tell  you,  fair  and 
square,  my  Lady !" 

"Good  heavens!"  said  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  whisking 

248 


THE  DUTY  OF  MORALITY 


round  so  sharply  on  the  sofa  that  Clarissa  fell  in  one  direc- 
tion, and  my  lady's  cushions,  fan,  and  pocket-handkerchief 
in  the  other.  "Never  tell  me  that  that  silly  young  man  is 
— has  been — can  be " 

"He  was,  he  is,  and  as  to  can  be,  your  Ladyship  knows 
yourself  what  young  gentlemen  are!  Oh,  to  think  of  its 
going  on  so  long,  though,  indeed,  I  might  ha'  known ! 
Haven't  I  seen  them  walking  together  on  a  Sunday  after- 
noon, time  and  again,  and  it's  all  head  toss  and  'How  dare 
you,  aunt  ?'  if  so  much  as  a  word  of  warning  is  given !" 

"Jocelyn  Bellairs!  But  what  has  been  discovered? 
What  proof  have  you  ?" 

"Oh,  la !"  the  fire  of  excitement  was  drying  up  the  elder 
Miss  Pounce's  tears.  "  'Tis  all  over  Mirabel's  already. 
Proof,  my  Lady?  Wasn't  the  unfortunate  girl  seen  sitting 
in  a  garden  last  Sunday  in  a  secret  cottage,  with  a  dark 
baby  on  her  lap?  A  dark  baby,  my  Lady!  And  think  of 
Mr.  Bellairs  as  black  as  my  shoe!  And  her,  as  Miss 
Smithson — that's  the  bookkeeper,  my  Lady — who  has  just 
left  me,  said  to  me,  as  bold  as  brass,  all  in  the  sunshine. 
And  she  ain't  denied  nothing,  neither." 

"Who?    Pamela?" 

Kitty  was  falling  from  amazement  to  amazement.  She 
had  seen  a  vast  deal,  one  way  and  another,  of  Madame 
Mirabel's  milliner,  and  if  ever  there  was,  in  her  opinion,  an 
honest,  sensible,  good-living  young  woman,  it  was  Pamela 
Pounce. 

"She  don't  deny  it.  Miss  Popple  up  and  taxed  her 
straight  out,  and  she  as  good  as  admitted  it.  Not  a  bit 
ashamed,  either." 

"Foh !"  my  Lady  fumed.  "Surely  you're  not  going  to 
condemn  your  own  flesh  and  blood  on  hearsay,  woman?" 

"My  Lady,"  Lydia  began  to  pant,  as  if  she  suddenly 

249 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


remembered  how  hard  she  had  been  running.  "I'm  back 
from  Madame  Mirabel's  this  moment,  and  seen  Pamela, 
and,  oh,  the  audacity  of  her!  Laughing  in  my  face,  and 
tossing  her  head!  'And  'tis  true,'  cries  she,  'the  little 
rogue  is  dark.  And  I  prefer  'em  dark,'  says  she,  'what 
then?' 

"  'Ho,  Miss,'  says  I,  'your  taste  lies  in  the  dark  line,' 
says  I.  'That's  no  surprise  to  me,  you  bold  hussy !'  And 
then,  my  Lady,  you'll  never  believe  it,  she  regular  in- 
sulted me. 

"  'Well,'  she  says,  'and  if  I  do  prefer  a  dark  gentleman, 
ain't  a  body  free  to  have  their  fancy?  There's  you,'  she 
says,  'as  likes  them  fat  and  cat-footed,  with  a  wheeze  and 
a  paunch,'  referring,  my  Lady,  to  the  attentions  Mr. 
Blandfoot  is  paying  me.  And  then  I  answers  her  back : 

"  'I'm  sure,  you  wicked  girl,  if  Mr.  Blandfoot  and  I  ever 
agree  to  settle,  it'll  be  as  man  and  wife,  respectable  and 
respected !' 

"  'Why,  lud,  aunt,'  she  says,  'you  have  a  nasty  mind.' 
And  more  than  that,  my  Lady,  I  couldn't  get  out  of  her, 
it  being  her  busy  time.  And — oh,  dear,  to  be  sure ! — was 
there  ever  such  a  desperate  bit  of  work?  Her  getting  on 
so  well,  fought  over  by  the  ladies,  I  may  say ! " 

Lady  Kilcroney  allowed  the  lamentations  to  continue 
without  interruption  for  some  time,  her  own  thoughts 
being  concentrated  on  the  painful  problem.  The  more  she 
reflected  upon  it,  the  more,  alas!  she  began  to  believe  in 
the  story. 

Old  Bellairs'  nephew  was  a  sad  dog — a  handsome, 
plausible,  dashing,  insidious  rascal — she  knew  that.  And 
that  he  had  pursued  Pamela  with  his  attentions,  she  was 
also  aware.  The  girl's  attitude  of  defiance  could  hardly 
go  with  innocence,  and  there  was  that  strange  story  about 

250 


THE  DUTY  OF  MORALITY 


the  debt.  Now  Kitty  liked  Pamela,  and  she  had  a  certain 
sympathy,  too,  with  a  spirit  that  refused  to  humiliate 
itself  on  a  question  of  private  conduct. 

"I  trust  no  one  has  ever  been  able  to  say  of  me  that  I 
am  otherwise  than  strictly  virtuous,"  she  thought,  "but  I 
can't  abide  these  prying  prudes  that  think  'tis  their  busi- 
ness to  show  up  any  poor  child  that's  made  a  slip  in 
her  time." 

"And,  ho,  my  Lady,"  concluded  Lydia,  "they've  kept  it 
from  Madame  Mirabel,  on  condition  that  my  niece  resigns 
her  situation." 

"Now,  look  here,  Lydia,  stop  sniffing.  If  'tis  my  poor 
dear  Bellairs'  nephew  that  wronged  the  girl,  I'll  see  that 
he  makes  reparation.  He  shall  marry  her.  Leave  it  to 
me.  Leave  it  to  me,  I  say !  I'll  have  the  truth  out  of  them 
both,  and  then  I'll  join  their  hands,  I  swear  it,  before  I'm 
two  days  older!" 

Kitty  was  one  of  those  whose  plans  are  swiftly  conceived 
and  whose  impatient  spirit  will  not  brook  an  instant's 
delay  in  their  execution.  She  sat  down  that  very  moment 
to  write  to  her  graceless  relative. 

"He  must  not  guess,"  she  thought,  as  her  quill  ran 
with  little  squeaks  and  pauses,  "he  must  not  guess  that 
he  is  to  be  brought  to  book  or  my  young  gentleman  will 
have  a  thousand  good  reasons  for  declining  to  present 
himself." 

"Dear  Nephew  Jocelyn,"  wrote  she,  very  silkily,  "pray 
come  and  visit  me  this  next  Thursday  afternoon  at  three 
of  the  clock.  It  is  a  long  time  since  we  have  met,  and  there 
is  a  little  matter " 

Here  Kitty  stopped  and  nibbled  at  her  pen.  How  could 
she  bait  the  trap  so  that  the  fox  would  fall  into  it? 

251 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


"a  little  matter  which  I  wish  to  discuss  with  you.  I  think 
when  you  hear  what  it  is,  you  will  agree  'twas  worth  wast- 
ing half  an  hour  on  your  attached  aunt-in-law. 

"Kitty  Kilcroney." 

Kitty  shook  the  pounce-box  over  the  sheet,  folded, 
superscribed,  and  affixed,  with  a  pat,  a  knowing  little  wafer 
which  bore  the  semblance  of  a  rose  with  the  touching 
motto:  "Sweet  unto  death." 

Then,  propping  her  round  chin  on  her  clasped  hands,  she 
gave  herself  to  reflection,  quite  a  minute's  reflection. 

"If  you  want  a  thing  well  done,  do  it  yourself.  There 
never  was  a  sounder  law.  I'll  not  trust  Lydia." 

My  Lady  took  up  her  pen  again. 

"My  good  Pounce" — thus  ran  the  quill — "Pray  present 
yourself  here  on  Thursday  at  three  o'clock,  bringing  the 
dark  baby  about  which  there's  such  a  to-do.  I  think  I  have 
proved  myself  a  friend  to  you;  do  you  prove  that  you 
recognize  it  by  falling  in  with  my  desire. 

"K.  Kilcroney." 

"P.S.  I  was  never  more  anxious  to  act  well  by  you  than 
in  this  instance." 

Having  dispatched  these  missives,  my  Lady  kept  her 
counsel ;  and  when  the  answers  came — Mr.  Bellairs*  reply 
accepting  rather  effusively,  with  indeed,  as  his  benefac- 
tress felt,  not  without  some  malice,  a  lively  sense  of  favors 
to  come;  and  Pamela's  in  four  respectful  lines  couched  in 
the  best  millinery  phraseology — the  plotter  locked  them 
into  her  bureau,  and  forbade  Lydia  to  mention  the  subject 
to  her  again,  if  she  valued  her  situation. 

On  the  Thursday  afternoon  fixed  for  the  meeting  my 

252 


THE  DUTY  OF  MORALITY 


Lady  Kilcroney  thoroughly  prepared  to  enjoy  herself. 
There  was  nothing  she  more  relished  than  the  ruling  of  a 
difficult  situation.  She  had  no  qualms  as  to  the  extent  of 
her  genius;  she  had  no  inconvenient  scruples  as  to  her 
wisdom. 

The  nephew  of  her  late  poor  Bellairs  had,  it  seemed, 
wronged  the  young  person  in  whom  she  took  an  interest. 
He  should  be  made  to  right  that  wrong,  or  her  name  was 
not  Kitty  Kilcroney. 

When  the  hour  approached  she  clothed  herself  in  gar- 
ments subtly  adapted  to  her  role,  rich  in  texture,  yet  grave 
in  hue;  a  mulberry  satin,  to  be  precise,  brocaded  with 
amber  roses.  Her  toilet  accomplished,  she  flung  a  satisfied 
look  into  her  mirror.  'Twas  a  bit  heavy  for  a  summer's 
day,  but  really,  with  the  old  deep-hued  lace  at  throat  and 
elbows,  mightily  becoming. 

Then  she  wheeled  upon  her  maid. 

"Now,  Lydia,"  ordered  she,  "you  are  not  to  show  your 
nose  till  I  bid  you.  I'll  not  have  you  poking  it  into  my  ar- 
rangements. It's  a  deal  too  sharp  and  fond  of  prying,  as 
it  is.  Aye,  I  do  expect  your  niece  and  Mr.  Jocelyn  Bel- 
lairs.  And,  no,  I  haven't  told  you  anything  about  it.  I'm 
to  manage  this  business  or  I  wash  my  hands  of  it.  If  you 
goggle  your  eyes  any  more,  Lydia,  they  will  drop  out! 
Nay,  I  will  not  permit  you  a  word  with  Pamela.  Nay,  not 
so  much  as  a  look  at  her.  You  will  keep  to  your  premises 
till  I  ring  my  bell." 

Lydia  tossed  her  head  a  good  deal,  and  was  sure  she 
was  very  grateful  to  her  Ladyship.  And  no  one  could  ac- 
cuse her  of  wanting  to  interfere.  Heaven  knew !  And,  as 
for  looking  at  that  creature's  bold  face  again  till  she  was 
an  honest  woman,  it  was  enough  for  her,  the  last  time. 

253 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Heaven  was  her  witness  that  she'd  had  a  queasiness  at  the 
pit  of  the  stomach  ever  since! 

Having  issued  her  instructions,  Kitty  sailed  downstairs, 
turned  the  astonished  Kilcroney  out  of  his  library,  which 
had,  she  considered,  a  more  judicial  appearance  than  the 
gold-and-white  drawing-room,  ordered  my  Lord,  in  the  de- 
termined tone  which  he  never  resisted,  to  his  club  till 
dinner-time;  rang  for  a  couple  of  footmen  to  remove  my 
lord's  tankard,  pipe  and  other  witnesses  of  loose  living 
from  the  premises,  and  sat  herself  down  in  a  large  leather 
armchair  to  await  the  sinners. 

Three  had  not  yet  struck  from  the  grandfather  clock  in 
the  corner  when  Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs  was  announced.  He 
entered  with  rather  less  of  the  conquering  air  than  was 
his  wont.  No  doubt  a  very  handsome  youth,  and  vastly 
improved  in  manners,  thought  Kitty,  noting  the  exact 
depth  of  his  bow  and  the  decorous  air  of  homage  with 
which  he  kissed  her  extended  hand.  Attired,  too,  with  a 
quiet  elegance,  which,  considering  that  the  hand  he  saluted 
was  the  one  which  had  frequently  paid  his  tailor,  was,  my 
Lady  considered,  well  chosen. 

"Pray,  sit  down,  Nephew  Jocelyn,  I  am  glad  to  see 
you." 

When  she  had  resumed  her  position  in  the  seat  of  jus- 
tice, and  he  had  deferentially  placed  himself  in  a  high- 
backed  chair — a  little  too  near  her,  she  thought,  for 
proper  respect,  but  some  slight  familiarity  might  be  par- 
doned to  a  relative — he  looked  at  her  interrogatively,  and 
there  ensued  a  silence. 

It  was  not  Kitty's  policy  to  put  him  at  his  ease  by  small 
talk;  rather,  indeed,  through  a  certain  measured  severity, 
to  awaken  stirs  of  conscience.  And  as  now  his  fine  brown 
orbs  took  the  inward  roll  which  she  knew  betokened  self- 

254 


THE  DUTY  OF  MORALITY 


searching,  she  kept  an  immovable  countenance,  looking 
down  at  her  brocade  lap  and  smoothing  a  fold  here  and 
there  with  delicate,  beringed  fingers.  She  had  considerable 
knowledge  of  the  world,  this  spoiled,  pretty  child  of 
fortune ! 

"I'll  wager,"  thought  she,  "he's  counting  up  his  debts, 
and  wondering  which  I've  heard  of,  and  never  giving  a 
thought  to  his  horrid  immorality." 

Mr.  Bellairs  cleared  his  throat,  glanced  uneasily  at  his 
hostess,  began  a  sentence  on  the  subject  of  the  weather, 
broke  off  in  the  middle  and  said,  with  a  plunge : 

"Here  I  am,  then,  Aunt  Kilcroney,  agreeable  to  your 
command !" 

"And,  indeed,  'tis  no  less  than  your  duty,  I  should  think. 
'Tis  a  vast  of  time,  sir,  since  you  have  done  me  the  honor 
to  call  upon  me.  Yet  I  think  each  quarter  day  brings  you 
the  wherewithal  to  remember  me  by,  to  say  the  least  of  it." 

He  looked  at  her  with  an  expression  in  which  relief  and 
disappointment  struggled.  Was  it  only  to  keep  him  to 
heel,  like  a  well-trained  dog,  that  she  had  sent  for  him? 
Was  there  nothing  but  huffiness  at  his  lack  of  assiduity  to 
account  for  her  air  of  disapproval,  or  had  she  heard  of 
that  little  bill  to  which  my  Lord  Kilcroney  had  so  good- 
naturedly  set  his  name?  Or  of  that  ruffling  night  at  the 
Cocoa  Tree  when  he  had  lost  four  hundred  pounds  to  my 
Lord  Sanquhar  and  thereafter  raised  the  money  to  settle 
it  with  Mr.  Aaron,  on  my  lady's  own  banker's  order  to 
himself?  A  transaction  which  might  have  been  ruin  indeed 
if  the  most  generous  girl  in  all  the  world  had  not  got  him 
out  of  the  sponging  house  in  time!  Here  his  cogitations 
came  to  an  abrupt  end,  and  the  very  person  in  his  thoughts 
stood  in  the  doorway. 

He  got  up,  all  amazement,  as  my  Lady,  too,  majesti- 

255 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


cally  rose.  What  in  the  name  of  Heaven  brought  Pamela 
Pounce  hither,  and  why,  by  all  that  was  crazy,  was  she 
carrying  a  little  dark  child  in  her  arms? 

The  young  man  flushed,  bit  his  lip,  and  trembled  with  a 
sudden  fury.  By  Heaven,  if  Pamela  had  gone  behind  his 
back  to  tattle  to  my  Lady,  he  would — yes,  dash  it,  he 
would  pay  her  back  and  never  speak  to  the  chit  again ! 

"Is  this  the  child?"  said  Kitty,  with  a  bell-like  tone 
of  melancholy. 

Pamela  curtsied  with  great  deliberation  for  all  reply, 
and  at  a  wave  of  Kitty's  hand,  gracefully  sat  down,  set- 
tling her  pretty  burthen  in  her  lap. 

It  was  a  little  girl,  beautiful  in  a  dark  way,  with  devour- 
ing brown  eyes.  She  was  exquisitely  dressed  in  a  lawn 
frock,  with  insertion  and  mignonette  trimming.  The 
Princess  Amelia  could  not  have  been  finer  clad,  thought 
Kitty ;  and  as  Pamela  took  off  the  straw  hat  with  the  os- 
trich feathers  and  revealed  an  ordered  tangle  of  copper 
curls,  which  would  one  day  be  night-black,  threaded 
through  with  a  faint  blue  ribbon,  my  Lady  could  hardly 
restrain  a  cry  of  admiration. 

Kitty  stood  and  looked  at  Mr.  Bellairs.  He  was  in  the 
throes  of  undeniable  agitation.  She  looked  at  Pamela, 
serene  and,  as  she  gazed  down  at  the  child,  Kitty  thought, 
lovely,  with  a  maternal  softening  of  her  bright,  hand- 
some face. 

"Ah,  Jocelyn  Bellairs !"  cried  Lady  Kilcroney,  dramati- 
cally, "you  may  well  turn  away.  You  may  well  feel  that 
sight  were  more  than  you  can  endure.  But  raise  your 
eyes,  sir.  Behold,  behold,  and  let  your  heart  speak.  Can 
you  yourself  a  man  and  refuse  that  trusting  creature  her 
rights,  refuse  that  exquisite  cherub  a  father's  name?" 

"Good  Lord !"  cried  Jocelyn.  He  cast  the  hat  he  had 

256 


THE  DUTY  OF  MORALITY 


been  clasping  under  his  arm  into  the  middle  of  the  room, 
the  better  to  clutch  his  temples.  "Am  I  stark  staring 
mad  ?  What  monstrous  stroke  is  this,  what  plot,  what  in- 
conceivable mistake?" 

There  was  such  a  ring  of  truth  in  his  accents  that  my 
Lady  shot  a  doubting  glance  at  Pamela,  but  conviction  re- 
turned upon  her  as  she  saw  this  young  woman  bending 
over  the  child  so  as  to  hide  her  face,  and  shaken  with  hys- 
terical emotion. 

Kitty  drew  a  long  breath,  and  started  again. 

"Do  not  think,  nephew,  that  by  adding  deceit  to  your 
vileness  you  can  make  a  better  situation  for  yourself. 
Far  from  it.  I  have  not  sent  for  you  here  to-day  to  re- 
buke, or  even  to  reproach.  My  sole  desire  is  to  help  you 
both.  Heaven  forbid  that  I  should  be  hard  on  any  woman 
who  has  been  betrayed  by  her  own  heart ! 

"Pamela,  if  you  had  confided  in  me  ere  this — nay,  never 
mind  now!  Suffice  it  that  I  know  all.  As  for  you,  sir,  I 
am  well  aware  that  gentlemen  think  all  too  lightly  of  a 
woman's  virtue ;  that  if  their  fancy  leads  them  to  court  in 
a  class  lower  than  their  own,  the  most  hitherto  virtuous 
and  confiding  female  becomes  to  use  their  own  horrid 
words,  'fair  game.' 

"But  I'll  not  have  Pamela  Pounce  treated  so  !  She's  far 
too  good  for  you,  sir,  and  so  I  tell  you  straight.  And  the 
proposal  which  I  am  about  to  make  to  you  is  for  her  sake, 
and  not  for  yours.  You  shall  marry  this  good  young 
woman — good  but  for  you,  you  scamp ! — and  I  shall  make 
it  my  business  to  place  you  in  an  advantageous  position 
out  of  England.  I'll  pay  your  debts  again,  sir,  and  set 
you  up.  I  have  not  thought  where  yet,  but  it  shall  not 
be  India,  for  the  little  angel's  sake " 

Here  she  stopped  suddenly.  Her  eyes  strayed  to  the 

257 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


child,  and  she  saw,  to  her  utter  amazement,  that  the  young 
milliner  was  laughing,  not  weeping. 

"Pamela  Pounce !"  she  cried,  in  a  scandalized  voice. 

Pamela  got  up  and  set  the  child  on  the  floor* 

"Will  your  Ladyship  observe  the  little  one?  She  is 
small  for  her  age,  I  know,  nevertheless  it  is  plain  to  see 
she  is  over  two  years.  How  old  are  you,  Carmelita  ?  Tell 
the  lady." 

The  child,  who  had  maintained  a  solemn  observant 
silence  during  the  whole  proceeding,  her  great  eyes  roam- 
ing from  one  person  to  another,  while  she  contentedly  sat 
on  Pamela's  lap,  now  looked  up  into  her  friend's  face  with 
a  roguish  smile. 

"Tell  the  pretty  lady." 

"Tell  you,"  said  the  child. 

"Well,  then,  tell  Pamela." 

But  with  the  perversity  of  its  sex  and  years,  the  child 
was  here  seized  with  overwhelming  giggles  and  buried  its 
head  in  Pamela's  skirt. 

Kitty  was  staring  with  her  mouth  and  eyes  open,  while 
a  dawning  sense  of  something  utterly  ludicrous  and  amaz- 
ing showed  itself  on  her  face. 

"If  her  Ladyship  will  kindly  tax  her  memory,"  Pamela 
spoke  in  ineradicable  bonnet-shop  phraseology,  "to  the 
extent  of  recollecting  that  I  met  Mr.  Bellairs  for  the  first 
time  on  the  doorstep  of  this  house  but  eighteen  months 
ago,  she  will  realize  that " 

"Enough !    Enough !"  cried  Kitty. 

She  waved  her  hand,  fell  back  into  her  armchair,  press- 
ing her  filmy  handkerchief  to  her  lips,  trying  to  check  her 
peals  of  laughter.  Perhaps  she  was  not  quite  so  over- 
whelmed with  merriment  as  she  pretended.  Perhaps  she 
felt  that  the  only  way  of  mitigating  the  supreme  ridi- 

258 


THE  DUTY  OF  MORALITY 


cule  of  her  situation  was  by  being  the  first  to  laugh  at  it. 

As  her  patroness  laughed,  Pamela  waxed  serious,  while 
Jocelyn  Bellairs  stood  scarlet  and  indignant,  the  picture 
of  offense  and  injured  rectitude. 

"I  little  thought,  my  Lady,  when  those  cats  at  Mirabel's 
got  hold  of  my  cat  of  an  aunt — begging  your  Ladyship's 
pardon — and  started  this  scandal  against  me,  and  all 
along  of  seeing  my  pink  flounces  at  tea  with  old  Madame 
Guturez,  this  darling's  grandmother,  I  little  thought  your 
Ladyship  would  be  ready  to  believe  such  an  outrageous  bit 
of  spiteful  nonsense. 

"When  they  upped  and  attacked  me,  says  I  to  them, 
'Mind  your  own  business !'  Heaven  be  good  to  me,"  said 
Pamela.  "I  wasn't  going  to  stoop  to  defend  myself  to 
them,  and  if  I  hadn't  been  the  best-natured  girl  in  the 
world,  I'd  have  gone  straight  to  Madame  Mirabel  and  told 
her  then  and  there  of  the  plot ! 

"And  as  for  Aunt  Lydia — well,  her  Ladyship  knows 
herself.  Those  old  maids  have  the  minds  of  I  don't  know 
what.  It's  enough  to  be  young  and  good-looking  for  them 
to  think  the  worst  of  you.  And  her  a-drawing  in  Mr.  Bel- 
lairs  so  shameful.  I  don't  mind  confessing  to  you,  my 
Lady,  that  the  more  that  poor  old  thing  shook  and  shivered 
and  went  on  at  me,  the  more  I  thought  it  would  be  a  fine 
joke  to  let  her  give  herself  away.  But  when  it  comes  to 
your  Ladyship " 

"Well,  well,"  said  Kitty,  not  quite  liking  the  tirade, 
with  pansy  eyes  rather  angry  over  tightly  smiling  lips. 
"You  had  but  to  write  me  three  words  of  explanation, 
Pamela " 

"Begging  your  Ladyship's  pardon,  if  I'd  explained  ever 
so,  your  Ladyship  wouldn't  have  believed.  No  lady  would 
ever  believe  a  poor  girl  accused  like  me,  if  she  didn't  bring 

259 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


up  proof.  And  allow  me  to  point  out,  your  Ladyship," 
went  on  the  milliner,  with  a  flourish,  as  if  she  were  indi- 
cating some  remarkable  feather  or  trimming,  "that  your 
Ladyship  having  merely  wrote  me  to  come  round  with  the 
child,  it  wouldn't  have  been  becoming  in  me  to  be  attribut- 
ing meanings  to  your  Ladyship's  commands." 

The  fire  went  out  of  Kitty's  eyes,  for  she  was  just  a 
woman;  she  laughed  again,  and  this  time  with  a 
genuine  ring. 

"Why,  was  there  ever  such  a  girl !  And  I  so  moved  over 
your  story  and  so  yearning  over  the  child,  and  so  stirred 
up,  ready  to  threaten  and  appeal.  And  so  pleased  with 
myself  to  be  standing  such  a  friend  to  you  and  bringing 
Master  Jocelyn  to  book  so  clever !" 

"Nay,"  said  Pamela,  "she's  not  mine  at  all."  Here  she 
swung  the  little  creature  up  into  her  arms  and  hugged  her. 
"And  I'm  sure  I  wish  she  was.  There,  I  don't  know  what  I 
wouldn't  have  gone  through  to  have  such  a  little  darling 
as  this  all  my  own!  No,  she's  not  mine,  your  Ladyship. 
Poor  innocent.  Ah,  'tis  cruel !  It's  worse  than  no  mother 
at  all  she  has,  her  that's  the  child  of  the  wretch  that  calls 
herself  Lady  Sanquhar." 

Both  Kitty  and  her  nephew-by-law  cried  out  at  this ; 
Master  Jocelyn  was  shaken  from  his  injured  mood  by  sud- 
den memories. 

"What,  that  odious,  bold-faced,  dressed-up  strumpet!" 
exclaimed  Kitty,  "driving  about  in  the  park  in  his  Lord- 
ship's curricle,  and  brazening  it  at  the  Opera,  till  a  woman 
of  virtue  scarce  knows  which  way  to  look !"  and : 

"The  Spanish  woman  that  ran  away  with  Lord 
Sanquhar!"  shouted  Mr.  Bellairs,  "whose  husband  was 
shot  before  my  very  eyes  as  he  was  trying  to  stop  her? 
Aye,  aye,  I  remember  there  was  a  little  child." 

260 


THE  DUTY  OF  MORALITY 


"And  only  three  days  ago,"  said  Pamela,  "I  turned  the 
woman  out  of  the  shop.  5Tis  transported  she'd  be,  if 
justice  were  done." 

At  this  my  Lady  Kilcroney  stepped  across  the  room 
and  embraced  Miss  Pamela  Pounce.  Then  she  kissed  the 
child,  too,  with  lingering,  repeated  caresses;  that  round 
velvet  cheek  stirring  irresistible  motherly  passions. 

"And  it  shall  have  a  cake,  it  shall,  and  nice  chockey  to 
drink,  it  shall,  the  pretty  rogue !  Ring  the  bell,  Jocelyn." 

Having  obeyed,  Mr.  Bellairs  advanced,  nostrils  dilated, 
swaggering  a  little  as  he  came,  with  a  defiant  smartness 
which  did  not  sit  ill  on  him. 

"I  presume,  Aunt  Kilcroney,  that  as  there  is  nothing 
else  upon  which  you  can  desire  to  confer  with  me,  you 
would  wish  me  to  withdraw.  Nevertheless,  there  is  one 
word  I  should  like  to  say  in  your  hearing  to  Miss  Pamela 
Pounce.  Will  you  spare  me  a  hand,  Pamela.  Thank  you. 
I  kiss  this  honest  hand,  this  honest,  kindly,  helpful  hand, 
and  I  say  that  if  you  will  condescend  to  bestow  it  on  me, 
I  will " 

But  Pamela  drew  away  her  fingers,  and  curtsying,  child 
and  all,  said  with  great  dignity: 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Bellairs,  I  have  no  intention  of 
changing  my  state." 

Kitty  looked  doubtfully  from  one  to  the  other.  Had 
he  been  in  earnest?  She  saw  that  Pamela  did  not  think 
so,  for  the  girl  had  colored  to  the  roots  of  her  hair,  and 
tossed  her  head.  She  would  have  no  gentleman's  pity 
or  condescension. 

The  countenance  of  the  young  man  was  inscrutable,  as 
he  bowed  very  low,  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  room. 

It  was  past  nine  that  evening  before  Madame  Mirabel's 

261 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


head  milliner  had  sufficiently  made  up  her  afternoon's  holi- 
day to  be  able  to  leave  the  workroom.  There  was  a  purple 
twilight  over  the  whole  busy  town,  and  the  lamplighter 
was  going  round  with  his  ladder,  leaving  a  jonquil  flame 
behind  him  at  long  intervals.  Here  and  there  a  torch 
flared  in  a  link.  The  streets  were  full  of  the  sound  of  feet, 
the  quick  feet  of  those  hurrying  home,  the  slow  feet  of  the 
strollers.  Pamela  was  tired;  the  day  had  been  a  long 
and  agitating  one.  She  paused  a  moment  on  the  pave- 
ment, outside  the  shop,  to  inhale  the  warm  air,  and  to 
enjoy  the  sense  of  leisure  at  last.  Her  mind  worked 
mechanically. 

"A  twist  of  purple  net  on  dark  blue  satin,  with  a  tuft 
of  orange  feathers.  'Twould  be  a  new  combination  and 
vastly  genteel.  ('Twould  suit  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  too, 
with  her  pansy  eyes.)" 

Some  one  came  up  behind  her  with  a  quick  tread  that 
suddenly  faltered.  Then  a  voice  called  her: 

"Pamela!" 

"La,  Mr.  Bellairs,  what  a  start  you  gave  me !" 

"May  I  go  a  little  way  with  you,  Pamela,  dear?" 

"There  now!  If  that  isn't  a  gentleman  all  over,  and 
me  having  only  just  reestablished  my  character!  A-wait- 
ing  for  me  again  outside  Madame  Mirabel's,  with  goodness 
gracious  knows  how  many  cats'  eyes  a-spying  on  me  from 
behind  the  shutters !" 

Something  about  the  girl's  gay  courage,  her  sane, 
bright  outlook  on  life  touched  him  at  a  spot  already  ex- 
ceedingly vulnerable.  Any  one  else,  he  thought,  would  be 
having  the  vapors  over  this  afternoon's  work ;  reproach- 
ing, weeping,  lost  in  self-pity  and  recrimination.  He  re- 
flected, too,  how  it  might  have  been,  had  she  listened  to  him 
one  winter's  evening  and  one  summer's  day.  A  girl  in  a 

262 


THE  DUTY  OF  MORALITY 


thousand!  His  mind  had  been  already  made  up;  but  he 
ratified  the  inner  decision  with  an  ardent  leap  of  the  heart. 

They  went  on,  side  by  side,  till  they  reached  the  Park, 
and  then  she  remembered  again,  how,  a  few  yards  away, 
nearly  two  years  ago,  she  had  snatched  a  pistol  from  him. 
He  stopped  her  and  spoke. 

"Pamela,  I  asked  you  to  give  me  your  hand  to-day.  I 
ask  you  again  to  be  my  wife.  Oh,  when  I  saw  you  etand 
with  the  little  dark  child  in  your  arms,  which  they  thought 
was  ours,  I  vowed  you  were  the  one  woman  in  the  world 
for  mel  Oh,  I  have  been  a  base  wretch!  I  owe  you 
money.  I  owe  you  my  honor.  I  owe  you  my  life.  I  owe  you 
something  more  worth  than  all  these;  the  only  real,  the 
only  pure  love  I  have  ever  known.  Pamela !  You'll  make 
a  man  of  me  yet,  if  you'll  have  me." 

She  had  once  been  shaken,  flattered  by  his  attentions; 
had  looked  up  at  him  as  a  being,  splendid,  dashing,  gal- 
lant, altogether  out  of  her  sphere.  When  he  had  courted 
her,  it  was  as  if  a  god  had  stooped.  But  this  evening  he 
was  something  quite  different  to  her ;  a  weak,  wild  youth 
whom  her  love  might  steady ;  a  spendthrift,  a  gambler,  an 
amiable  prodigal  for  whom  she  might  prepare  the  fatted 
calf,  whom  her  ring  might  bind  to  home ;  one,  in  fine,  who 
had  need  of  her.  It  was  the  mother  in  her  who  smiled  on 
him  now  with  wet  eyes. 

Under  a  high  moon  and  a  sky  full  of  stars  they  presently 
discussed  plans  that  seemed  to  Pamela  to  combine  the  bliss 
of  Eden  with  the  practicality  of  a  workaday  world. 

"I'll  not  give  up  my  business,  sir !  I'll  never  pretend  to 
be  other  than  I  am.  No  false  lady  airs  for  me  !*' 

"You  wouldn't  be  Pamela  if  there  were.  You  shall  do 
exactly  what  you  like !  But  I'm  going  to  work,  too.  In- 
deed, my  dearest  girl,  I  will !  And  we'll  have  that  cottage 

263 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


somewhere  in  the  green,  but  not  too  far  but  what  you  can 
get  the  coach  of  a  morning." 

"Oh,"  cried  Pamela,  clasping  her  hands  and  laughing, 
"I'll  have  roses  in  the  garden,  and  sit  out  of  a  Sunday  in  a 
pink  muslin  dress  with  flounces !" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IN  WHICH  MY  LADY  KILCRONEY  MAKES  AN  INDELICATE  FUSS 

MY  Lord  Kilcroney  had  none  of  your  nasty  prudish 
minds  that  think  harm  of  a  kiss.  To  salute  a  rosy 
cheek,  or  clasp  a  trim  waist  came  as  natural  to  him  as  to 
toss  off  a  tankard  of  brown  ale,  or  light  his  long  clay,  or 
sit  in  the  sunshine.  And  indeed,  my  Lady,  knowing  him, 
had,  as  a  rule,  an  indulgence  for  such  peccadilloes;  the 
merest  shrug  of  the  shoulders  or  a  "Fie  for  shame,  my 
Lord !"  in  a  voice  scarce  more  indignant  than  that  in  which 
'she  chid  the  littler  Denis  for  putting  his  fingers  in  the 
sugar  bowl.  But  the  mischief  was  in  it,  this  summer  at 
Weymouth,  Kitty  being  in  attendance  on  her  Royals,  that 
such  a  change  should  come  over  the  whole  spirit  of  the 
whilom  sensible  spouse. 

Such  a  hullabaloo  over  a  kiss !  If  ever  there  was  any- 
thing likely  to  drive  a  really  faithful  husband  to  desperate 
courses,  it  was  this  unexpected,  undeserved  severity. 

Unfortunately  he  had  been  unlucky  in  his  choice  of 
partner  for  the  peccadillo.  Molly  Lafone's  smooth  cheek, 
fine-grained  as  a  geranium  leaf,  and  as  delicately  rouged 
as  a  miniature,  Molly  Lafone's  cheek,  ethereally  tinted, 
had  the  quality  of  pitch  in  the  eyes  of  other  ladies,  and  the 
touch  of  it  defiled* 

My  Lord,  puffing  at  his  clay  in  the  County  Club  at 
Weymouth,  with  an  air  half-humorous,  half-defiant,  and 
thinking  back  on  that  same  cheek  with  a  certain  com- 
placence, might  perhaps  have  altered  his  opinion  on  the 
whole  matter  had  he  been  aware  how  neatly  Mrs.  Lafone 

265 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


had  timed  the  episode  for  the  passage  of  the  Queen's 
equipage. 

They  had  met,  quite  accidentally,  on  the  parade. 

"Oh,  my  Lord  Kilcroney,"  quoth  she,  "is  it  indeed  you?" 

Her  victim  as  good-humored  and  devil-may-care  as  you 
please,  brought  himself  up  with  a  wheel  and  a  flourish. 

Molly  was  clasping  her  hands.  It  was  her  trick  to  go 
like  a  snowdrop  in  the  dawn,  when  the  rest  of  womanhood 
flared  carnation  on  the  cheek.  Her  small  faintly  tinted 
face  was  absolutely  irradiated. 

"Is  it  indeed  you,  Denis  Kilcroney?  I  declare  'tis  like 
meeting  the  sun  in  a  fog  to  see  you !  Oh,  your  kind  look, 

my  Lord,  and  your  good  smile!  This  place "  She 

broke  off. 

"How  now !"  said  he,  gallantly  saluting!  a  pearl-like  inch 
of  wrist  between  rumpled  glove  and  lace  ruffle.  "What's 
wrong  with  the  place,  Mrs.  Lafone?  Troth,  and  I  thought 
it  was  the  St.  James's  over  again,  for  every  ten  steps  don't 
I  come  across  a  friend!  And  this  is  the  best  meeting  of 
all,"  he  added,  with  another  bow,  another  kiss,  and  a  still 
broader  smile,  for — deuce  take  him ! — the  little  thing  had 
been  monstrous  glad  to  see  him,  there  was  no  mistake 
about  that,  and  he  was  nothing  if  not  responsive.  "And, 
as  for  sun,"  he  went  on,  straightening  himself  and  gazing 
down  at  her  rather  fatuously,  "Isn't  the  great  orb  of 
Royalty  shining  on  Weymouth  this  minute  ?" 

Now  Molly  Lafone  knew  how  to  play  such  a  one  as 
Denis  Kilcroney  as  a  skillful  angler  plays  a  fish.  She  had 
hooked  him  with  that  glance  of  innocent  joy;  now  she 
drove  the  crochets  in  more  firmly  by  an  air  of  flutter  which 
would  have  melted  any  masculine  temperament. 

("Oh,  I  have  betrayed  myself,"  her  tremor,  her  shy 

266 


AN  INDELICATE  FUSS 


butterfly  glance,  her  sigh,  her  shaken  laughter  pro- 
claimed.) 

"Oh,  the  Royal  Orb,"  she  murmured.  "Oh,  my  Lord !" 
Then,  "Aye,  true,  indeed.  Oh,  as  you  say !  The  orb  and 
scepter.  George" — here  a  gleam  of  mischief  came  like 
April  sunshine  to  drive  the  shadows  from  her  pretty, 
abashed  countenance.  Her  faltering  voice  took  a  saucy 
note.  "George  and  his  Dragon,"  she  whispered,  tittered, 
put  her  finger  to  her  lip.  "Oh,  the  mortal  dullness  of  it ! 
I'm  a  parson's  daughter,  as  your  Lordship  knows,  and 
brought  up  prodigious  proper,  but  I  vow  and  declare  that 
if  anything  could  make  me  wish — want  to — shake  my  sense 
of  piety  and  virtue — what  am  I  saying?  Good  heavens, 
my  Lord  Kilcroney!  You  are  but  just  arrived;  but  if 
Windsor  is  pompous  and  dull,  Weymouth  is— oh!"  she 
yawned. 

Kilcroney  was  eying  her,  his  sides  shaking  with  mirth; 
but  at  the  word  "pompous"  the  laughter  left  his  lips,  he 
scratched  his  chin. 

"Well,  now  that  you  mention  it,  my  dear,"  he  mur- 
mured, "it  struck  me  there  was  a  certain  tedium  in 
the  air." 

"Oh,  tedium!"  cried  Molly,  and  went  off  on  another 
yawn. 

As  she  yawned,  he  reflected.  Pompous,  she  had  said. 
There  had  distinctly  been  a  shade  of  pomposity  about  his 
Kitty,  as,  just  landed  from  the  coach,  he  had  hurried  to 
embrace  her,  scarce  eighteen  hours  ago. 

"Heavens,  Denis,  not  in  full  view  of  the  window.  The 
Princesses  are  fond  of  an  evening  walk.  And  good 
gracious,  my  Lord,  what  a  coat  to  travel  in,  and  the  King's 
gentlemen  always  point-device !  And  pray,  dear  Denis,  let 
me  send  for  the  hairdresser,  for  if  Her  Majesty  was  to  see 

267 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


you,  such  a  show,  down  the  parade,  and  she  so  set  against 
the  Irish,  I  scarcely  know  how  I  could  bear  myself  in  her 
Presence." 

This  was  the  welcome  Denis  had  had  the  day  before; 
and  it  had  somewhat  clouded  his  morning  thought.  It 
had  taken  all  the  comfort  of  his  recent  passage  through 
the  hands  of  a  first-class  barber,  and  of  as  good  a  tankard 
of  burned  Sherry  as  ever  he  had  tasted  at  the  County 
Club,  to  restore  him  to  the  good  humor  in  which  Mistress 
Lafone  had  found  him.  He  now  thought  back  upon  his 
grievance,  and  as  is  often  the  case,  with  an  increased  sense 
of  injury. 

"  'Pon  me  soul,  you're  in  the  right  of  it !  And  what  in 
the  world  my  Lady  and  the  rest  of  them  want  to  be  hanging 
on  the  Court  for,  this  way,  passes  me.  Glory  be  to  God, 
doesn't  weariness  ooze  out  of  them  all?  It's  sodden  they 
are  with  it." 

"Weariness,"  echoed  she  again.  She  glanced  up  at  the 
black-faced  clock  with  the  white  figures  on  the  church 
tower  across  the  way.  The  sea  was  on  the  other  side  of 
them :  the  foam-capped  waves  tossing  and  furling  and  pur- 
suing each  other  in  playful  froliclike  myriads  of  lambs  on 
a  deep  blue  field.  There  was  a  gay  sky  to  match,  and  a 
gay  wind,  full  of  an  intoxicating  tang,  and  it  blew  Mistress 
Lafone's  shot  green  taffety  into  balloons  and  silvery  lique- 
factions, and  fluttered  her  light  curls,  and  set  the  long 
amber  streamers  of  her  rustic  hat  flying  like  pennons.  She 
glanced  back  from  the  clock  to  my  Lord's  face  and  her 
eyes  danced  and  flickered  as  if  the  sea  were  in  them,  and 
suddenly  filled  with  huge  tears. 

"  'Tis  not  the  weariness,  I  mind,"  she  exclaimed  with  a 
sob.    "  'Tis  the  cruelty !" 

268 


AN  INDELICATE  FUSS 


"Why,  you  poor  little  bird,"  quoth  he,  tenderly  com- 
passionate. "Could  any  one  be  cruel  to  you  ?" 

"Oh,  indeed,  they  are,  my  Lord,  and  I  can't  think  how 
I  have  offended  them !  Oh,  the  slights,  the  unkindnesses  ! 
And  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  your  own  dear  lovely  lady,  my 
Lord,  what  she  hath  against  me. — Oh,  I  do  assure  you," 
cried  Mrs.  Lafone,  raising  her  voice  piteously,  as  the 
measured  trot  of  Royal  horses  beat  upon  her  ear,  "I've 
cried  myself  to  sleep,  night  after  night,  and  when  I  saw 
your  face,  'Here's  one,'  I  said  to  myself,  'who  will  be  a 
little  kind  to  me !'  " 

The  wind — it  certainly  was  a  naughty  wind,  as  if  it,  too, 
were  a  rebel  against  the  decorum  imposed  by  the  pres- 
ence of  Royalty — came  rushing  up  from  the  wide  ocean 
and  caught  Mistress  Lafone  in  a  positive  whirl,  seizing 
her  with  a  great  beat  of  invisible  pennons  as  if  about  to 
fly  away  with  her. 

"Oh,  oh!"  she  cried.  Her  light  figure  swayed  and 
seemed  to  lift.  She  flung  out  her  arms.  What  could  my 
Lord  do  but  catch  her?  And  holding  her,  what  could  he 
do  but  kiss  her?  For  there  were  tears  on  her  delicate 
face  which  melted  him,  and  sparkles  behind  them  which 
dared  him;  and  what's  a  kiss  when  all  is  said  and  done? 

The  Royal  carriage  wheeled  by  them  and  Kitty,  sitting 
bolt  upright  opposite  the  Queen,  had  a  good  view  of  her 
erring  spouse  and  his  infamous  companion  for  the  whole 
length  of  the  parade.  It  can  scarcely  be  credited;  the 
culprits,  as  they  gazed  back  at  her,  were  laughing. 

The  matrimonial  course  of  the  Kilcroneys  had  been 
fond,  but  as  any  one  who  knew  my  Lady  might  guess,  it 
had  been  variegated.  She  had  a  quick  temper,  an  im- 
patient spirit,  and  a  detestation  of  monotony;  withal  the 
soundest  heart  in  the  world.  So  that  never  did  couple  so 

269 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


often  fall  out  or  so  fervently  make  it  up,  as  they.  My 
Lord,  who  was  of  an  easy-going  temperament,  who  loved 
and  admired  his  Kitty  in  all  her  moods,  rather  enjoyed 
these  connubial  storms. 

"Begad,"  he  would  say,  "there  never  was  anything  to 
equal  a  dash  of  red  pepper  for  making  a  man  enjoy  the 
taste  of  the  wine  afterwards !" 

But  now  my  Lady's  wrath  took  an  unpleasant  form; 
one  which,  in  its  turn,  aroused  his  resentment.  It  drove 
him  even  to  a  certain  bitterness,  as  he  sat  in  the  bow 
window  of  the  County  Club,  pulling  at  his  long  clay.  It 
drove  the  complacent  memory  of  Molly  Lafone's  smooth, 
pert  cheek  from  his  mind  as  with  a  sting. 

"  'Pon  me  word !"  he  said,  swinging  his  leg.  "A  man 
would  think  it  was  the  leper  I'd  made  of  myself !  Split 
me,  Verney,  if  me  Lady  doesn't  whisk  away  her  skirts  as 
she  crosses  me  path !  And  never  a  word  out  of  her  since 
she  first  had  at  me — -Be  jabers!  I'm  not  like  to  forget 
that  in  a  hurry!  But  it's  pinched  lips  and  dropped  eyes 
and  turn  away  with  her  till  I'm  crazy." 

Squire  Day  and  my  Lord  Verney  gazed  with  compassion 
on  the  sinner;  the  compassion  that  is  the  worst  kind  of 
condemnation.  Then  Squire  Day  said,  a  little  dryly : 

"  "Pis  a  pity  that  the  occasion  should  have  been  quite 
so  public." 

And  my  Lord  Verney,  drawing  in  his  turn  the  clay  from 
his  lips,  burst  out: 

"Susan  says — My  Lady  Verney  hath  it,  that  'twas 
Mistress  Lafone's  very  plan — to  show  you  up  before  Their 
Gracious  Majesties  and  shame  Kitty !" 

Kilcroney  stared  a  moment  with  widening  eyes  and  drop- 
ping jaw  at  the  speaker.  Then  the  crimson  rose  in  his 
handsome,  dissipated  face. 

270 


AN  INDELICATE  FUSS 


"Ah!  God  help  you!"  he  exclaimed,  "if  that  isn't  the 
ladies  all  over.  'Tis  the  down  of  the  world  they  have  on 
that  poor  little  creature.  And  what  in  name  o'  God 
should  she  want  to  be  playing  such  a  thrick  for?  And 

sure,  oughtn't  I  to  know,  'twas  the  innocentest "    He 

broke  off,  for  Squire  Day's  laugh  was  loud. 

"Innocent?"  he  repeated.  "My  dear  Kil,  'tis  you  who 
are  as  innocent  as  Adam !  But  I'm  with  you  on  one  point. 
The  ladies  have  treated  that  little  Lafone  monstrous  cruel. 
I  doubt  if  they  have  as  much  as  let  her  nibble  a  macaroon, 
with  them  since  they  came  down  here.  And  your  Kitty  has 
given  the  lead." 

"My  Kitty!"  exclaimed  her  spouse  in  a  generous  heat. 
"Why,  man,  she's  picked  that  same  Molly  out  of  a  hundred 
scrapes.  Sure,  Lafone's  no  more  sense  than  a  child. 
Why,  she  owes  my  Lady " 

"Ah,"  said  Squire  Day,  quietly,  "she's  one  who  pays 
back  with  interest." 

Kilcroney  stared  again. 

"I'll  be  hanged  if  I  know  what  you're  driving  at,  man," 
he  began,  but  suddenly  fell  silent  with  fixed  eyes. 

His  armchair  was  opposite  the  door,  which  had  now 
been  quietly  opened;  a  fine  portly  gentleman  walked  in  as 
if  the  place  belonged  to  him. 

"Tare  and  'ounds,  lads,"  cried  the  Irishman,  under  his 
breath.  "Here's  his  Royal  Highness !"  and  sprang  to  his 
feet. 

The  next  instant  the  club-room  rang  with  shouts  of 
mirth. 

"By  the  Holy  Father !  Stafford  !— Ned,  me  boy,  I  took 
you  for  the  Prince  of  Wales.  'Pon  me  living  soul,  I  did. 
Oh,  Ned,  Ned !  'tis  the  fill  of  your  waistcoat  you  are,  and 
no  mistake." 

271 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


"His  Highness  ought  to  be  flattered,"  said  Mr.  Stafford, 
who  was  not. 

Miss  Pamela  Pounce  was  deposited  at  The  White  Hart, 
Weymouth,  by  the  midday  coach,  having  slept  at  Dor- 
chester. 

She  looked  as  crisp  and  modish  as  one  of  her  own  hats, 
as  she  tripped  along  the  parade  towards  my  Lady  Kil- 
croney's  lodgings,  followed  by  a  porter  who  moved  in  a 
perfect  grove  of  bandboxes. 

Miss  Pounce  had  traveled  to  Weymouth  with  a  selection 
of  hats  and  heads  for  the  tempting  of  her  fashionable 
clientele.  Born  business  woman  that  she  was,  she  carried 
her  unerring  instinct  into  every  detail,  such  as  that  very 
halt  at  Dorchester,  which  enabled  her  to  impress  at  once 
by  her  appetizing  freshness  and  her  air  of  not  having  lost 
a  minute  in  providing  an  esteemed  customer  with  the  very 
latest ;  "piping  hot,"  as  she  herself  expressed  it. 

She  had  no  hesitation  in  the  choice  of  her  first  patroness. 
My  Lady  Kilcroney  gave  the  lead  and  Madame  Mirabel's 
partner  only  spoke  the  truth  when  she  averred  that  she 
had  rather  have  my  Lady's  custom  than  that  of  Queen 
Charlotte  and  all  the  Princesses. 

Softly  signaling  to  the  burthened  porter  to  wait  in  the 
hall,  Miss  Pounce  nipped  two  special  bandboxes  from  his 
grasp  and  herself  mounted  the  stairs  behind  Kitty's  black 
boy.  Her  Ladyship  was  in  her  bedroom.  That  suited 
Pamela  very  well;  in  fact  she  had  timed  herself  to  find 
Kitty  in  her  negligee,  perfumed  from  her  toilet,  restored  by 
her  morning  chocolate,  just  planning  the  pleasures  of  the 
day.  Miss  Pounce  smiled,  as  bending  her  ear  she  caught 
the  sound  of  feminine  voices  and  laughter  within.  A  dis- 

272 


AN  INDELICATE  FUSS 


creet  play  of  nails  upon  the  panels  remaining  unanswered, 
she  gave  one  authoritative  tap  and  entered. 

Kitty,  in  a  cloud  of  lace,  with  lavender  ribbons,  occupied 
the  center  of  the  apartment,  throned  in  a  high  winged 
armchair.  Her  elbows  were  on  the  table  before  her,  on 
which  were  strewn  divers  colored  prints  and  an  immense 
heap  of  light-hued  patterns  of  silk  and  satin.  On  either 
side  of  her  sat  her  two  special  cronies,  Lady  Anre  Day 
and  Lady  Flora  Dare  Stamer.  All  three  heads  were  bent 
together;  no  conspirators  planning  the  downfall  of  the 
crown  could  have  seemed  more  wrapped  in  mysterious  col- 
loquy. Pamela  had  to  "hem,"  before  her  presence  was 
noticed.  Then  the  faces  were  lifted  with  a  start,  and 
Miss  Pounce  had  no  reason  to  complain  of  the  effect  of 
her  unexpected  appearance. 

Kitty  clapped  her  hands. 

"What  good  wind  has  driven  you  hither,  child,  to-day 
of  all  days?" 

"And  I  who  was  thinking,"  cried  Nan  Day,  "that  I 
hadn't  a  head  to  my  curls,  fit  to  appear  at  Kitty's  party, 
for  my  country  slut  has  packed  your  rose  tulle  turban, 
and  the  Paris  toque,  Miss  Pounce,  I  do  assure  you,  as  if 
she  was  stuffing  a  goose  1" 

"As  for  me,"  said  Lady  Flora,  "I  haven't  paid  Madame 
Mirabel's  account,  this  goodness  knows  how  long.  But 
there — I  think  she  knows  I'm  no  bad  customer  after  all" — 
with  her  fat  laugh.  "And  I'm  sure  she'll  let  me  have  a 
mode  to  set  off  my  poor  countenance,  or  I  shall  be  lost 
indeed,  amid  so  much  youth  and  beauty!" 

Miss  Pounce  put  down  her  bandboxes,  to  give  them  ad- 
mirably differentiated  curtsies,  and  drew  in  her  breath 
with  that  sucking  sound  which  meant  the  excess  of  en- 
joyment. 

273 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


My  Lady  Kilcroney  was  about  to  give  an  entertainment ; 
an  entertainment  before  which  every  other  effort  of  hers 
should  pale.  It  was  to  be  honored  with  the  presence  of 
the  King  and  Queen  and  the  Princesses ;  that  went  without 
saying.  But  it  was  to  be  more  distinguished  even  than 
this.  His  Royal  Highness,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  was  ex- 
pected for  three  days  at  Weymouth,  on  a  kind  of  recon- 
ciliation visit  to  their  Majesties — there  had  been  one  of 
those  too  frequent  ruptures  between  them — and  my  Lady's 
party  was  the  only  one  which  he  had  signified  his  pleasure 
to  attend.  Never  in  all  her  triumphant  days  had  Kitty 
reached  such  a  triumph.  It  was  no  wonder  that  her  eyes 
sparkled,  and  her  hands  trembled,  as  she  turned  over  pat- 
terns, and  discussed  minuets. 

Five  violins  from  the  Opera  were  coming,  and  the  famous 
lady  harpist.  Only  the  select  of  the  select  were  to  be 
admitted  to  the  sacred  circle.  The  supper  was  to  beat 
every  feast  that  Kitty's  chef,  with  the  assistance  of  several 
club  friends,  had  ever  before  accomplished,  and  Kitty's 
costume  (carmine  brocade,  powdered  with  silver  rose- 
buds )  was  to  outshine  anything  that  that  leader  of  fashion 
had  previously  donned. 

"I  declare  I  was  about  to  post  an  express  to  Madame 
Mirabel  to  get  you  down,  my  dear,"  said  Kitty  when  the 
first  clatter  of  conversation  had  somewhat  died  away. 

Pamela  pinched  her  lips. 

"Well,  if  it  isn't  Providence !  I've  got  in  that  bandbox 
a  head ! — a  head  I  say,  my  Lady,  roses  dew-dropped  with 
Strass,  and  just  a  twist  of  silver  net  illusion — if  it  ain't 
Providence !" 

Perhaps  Miss  Lydia  Pounce  had  assisted  Providence  in 
this  matter.  That  admirable  Abigail  had  her  wits  all 
about  her. 

274 


AN  INDELICATE  FUSS 


The  three  charming  ladies  held  their  breath  while  the 
nimble  young  milliner  went  down  on  one  knee  and  began 
to  unfasten  the  cordings  of  the  larger  bandbox.  '  Scarcely 
had  her  fingers  reached  the  palpitating  stage  of  tissue 
paper,  when  the  door  was  flung  violently  open,  and  Lord 
Kilcroney  marched  into  the  room.  He  came  in  with  a 
great  swing  of  coat-tails  and  stamp  of  high  boots,  and 
it  was  plain  to  see,  by  other  tokens — his  flaming  eye,  his 
dilated  nostril,  his  clenched  jaw — that  he  was  in  a  tower- 
ing rage. 

The  ladies  fell  apart,  with  the  movement  of  scared  birds 
under  the  dash  of  the  hawk.  Even  Kitty  cowered  in  her 
chair,  though  only  for  a  second.  Before  the  gathering 
wrath  exploded,  she  had  reared  her  pretty  head  in  defiance, 
and  was  ready  to  meet  him  with  a  temper-flash  as  stormy 
as  his  own. 

He  flung  on  the  table  an  open  letter — a  fragrant  pink 
sheet  it  was,  with  coquettish  wafer  still  attached — and  pin- 
ning it  with  his  finger,  asked  in  a  voice,  hoarse  and  trem- 
bling from  his  efforts  to  control  it :  "Is  this  a  forgery,  my 
Lady,  or  is  it  a  bad  joke?" 

Kitty  glanced  down  at  the  scrap  of  paper,  marked  with 
her  own  delicate  caligraphy,  in  the  latest  thing  in  violet 
inks ;  then,  her  hotly  resentful  gaze  contradicting  the  ice- 
cold  mockery  of  her  accents :  "I  marvel,  my  lord,  that  you 
can  find  a  joke  in  what  is  to  me  so  monstrous  sad." 

"I  say  it's  a  bad  j  oke,  a  blanked,  ill-bred  devilish  bit  of 
cattiness !" 

"Oh,  pray,  pray !"  tittered  my  Lady  on  the  edge  of  hys- 
terical fury.  "Remember  you  are  not  in  the  bosom  of 
your  family,  Denis.  Here  are  witnesses " 

"Witnesses,  is  it?'  I've  nothing  to  hide,  I'd  have  it 
called  by  the  town  crier.  The  letter  which  a  wife  was  not 

275 


PAMELA,  POUNCE 


ashamed  to  send  to  her  husband,  may  be  sung  up  and  down 
the  parade,  for  all  I  care ! — Listen  to  this,  Nan  Day :  you 
led  your  husband  a  pretty  dance  once  upon  a  time,  but 
split  me,  you  stopped  short  of  public  insult!  Listen, 
Lady  Flora,  all  the  world  knows  what  a  treasure  Dare- 
Stamer  has  in  you  and  how  'tis  the  good  humor  of  the 
world  you  have  with  him,  and  the  patience ! — Here's  a  mes- 
sage for  a  wife  to  write  to  her  husband : 

"My  dear  Denis,  Her  Majesty  has  most  graciously  con~ 
doned  the  dreadful  Act  of  Disrespect  by  which  you  made 
an  exhibition  of  yourself  and  of  another  person  who  shall 
be  nameless,  at  a  moment,  "when  the  Horrid  Spectacle  could 
not  fail  to  meet  her  August  Glance,  in  so  far  as  not  to 
•withdraw  her  condescending  promise  to  be  present  at  my 
Ball  to-morrow  night.  She  has,  nevertheless,  given  me  to 
understand  with  her  own  incomparable  Tact  and  Kindness 
that  should  you  find  it  convenient  to  be  absent  on  business 
on  that  occasion  it  would  considerably  add  to  the  harmony 
of  the  evening.  I  am  sure  I  need  only  convey  this  expres- 
sion of  Her  Royal  Pleasure  to  you,  that  you  are  not  so 
altogether  lost  to  decency  and  good  feeling  as  not  instantly 
to  take  steps  to  meet  it.  Pray,  believe  me,  my  Lord,  to 
remain  your  attached  and  dutiful  Wife " 

Denis's  voice  shook  and  broke  with  a  sound  that  ap- 
proached a  snarl,  on  the  last  words. 

"What  do  you  think  of  that?  What  do  you  think  of 
it?"  he  shouted,  shaking  the  letter,  first  under  Lady 
Flora's,  then  under  Nan  Day's  nose. 

Both  ladies  looked  scared. 

"Dear!  dear!"  said  Lady  Flora,  "I'm  sure  'tis  vastly 
disagreeable  all  round,  but — well,  there,  my  good  soul, 

276 


AN  INDELICATE  FUSS 


wouldn't  it  help  matters  if  you  was  just  to  do  as  the  Queen 
asks?  La!  she's  so  prodigious  stiff  -backed.  And  who 
should  know  it  but  me !  Didn't  I  nearly  die  of  being  Lady 
of  the  Bedchamber  for  three  mortal  months.  Oh,  I'm  too 
fat  and  soft  for  Her  Majesty!  But  sure,  it'll  all  blow 
over,  and  you  so  good-natured  yourself,  and  so  obliging !" 

"I'm  sure,"  said  Nan,  stepping  up  to  Kitty,  and  turn- 
ing a  fierce  blue  eye  on  my  Lord,  "I  don't  know  what  you 
mean  about  leading  my  Philip  a  dance,  my  Lord  Kilcroney. 
Whatever  points  of  difference  there  may  have  been  be- 
tween us,  they've  been  private  ones.  And  my  husband, 
sir,  a  gentleman  of  high  principles  and  good  conduct,  and 
if  I  were  not  all  a  wife  should  be  to  him,  I  should  indeed 
be  the  basest  of  women ;  but  were  I" — she  suddenly  be- 
gan to  shake  and  tremble  upon  tears — "were  I  wedded  to 
one  who  outraged  my  tenderest  feelings,  offended  my  dig- 
nity in  public,  made  a  mock  of  the  most  solemn  vows  and — 

and '      She  flung  her  arms  round  Kitty  and  clasped 

her,  sobbing. 

Her  emotion  was  contagious.  Kitty  burst  into  tears  on 
the  spot. 

"May  you  never  know  what  it  means,  my  sweet  Nan! 
May  your  heart  never  be  broken !" 

The  two  clung  together,  sobbing  as  for  a  wager;  and 
Lady  Flora,  whisking  out  a  capable  handkerchief,  sniffed 
and  begged  them,  with  reddening  eyelids,  to  stop  for 
mercy's  sake. 

"Don't,  Kilcroney !  Don't,  Nan!  I'm  so  soft!  You'll 
have  me  off  too.  I  never  could  bear  to  see  any  one  cry." 

Even  Pamela,  kneeling  beside  her  bandbox,  flung  a  gaze 
of  deep  reproach  upon  the  sinner.  She  knew  something 
of  the  story :  her  aunt  was  one  who  liked  to  retail  a  bit  of 
spicy  gossip  when  it  came  her  way. 

277 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


The  weight  of  this  feminine  condemnation  was  too  much 
for  the  unhappy  Denis,  but  his  wrath  was  unabated. 

"Vastly  well,  my  Lady.  Vastly  well,"  he  cried,  thrusting 
the  crumpled  note  into  his  pocket.  "I'll  off  with  myself, 
aye,  and  I'll  take  this  love  token  with  me.  I'll  not  pollute 
your  party,  never  fear ;  but  whatever  you  hear  of  me,  now, 
remember,  you  drove  me  to  it." 

Denis  Kilcroney  fulfilled  his  dark  threat  by  going 
straight  to  the  confectioner's  shop  over  which  Mrs.  La- 
fone  had  taken  modest  lodgings.  He  found  her  in  com- 
pany with  her  brother-in-law,  Ned  Stafford.  That  gentle- 
man was  lying,  as  much  at  his  ease  as  he  could  in  the  only 
armchair,  which  was,  however,  hard  and  slippery,  being 
covered  with  horsehair.  His  hands  were  joined  by  the 
fingertips,  his  eyes  were  closed.  With  a  resigned  lift  of 
eyebrow  he  was  listening  to  the  little  lady's  shrill  and 
voluble  harangue. 

Mistress  Molly,  in  a  white  muslin  morning  wrapper  tied 
round  her  slim  waist  by  an  azure  blue  ribbon,  with  silver 
fair  hair,  scarcely  powdered,  all  unbound,  save  for  where 
a  knot  of  the  same  blue  caught  the  curls  at  the  nape  of 
her  neck,  looked  perhaps  only  the  more  attractive  be- 
cause her  eyes  and  cheeks  blazed  with  anger.  And  it  was, 
my  Lord  Kilcroney  saw  with  relief,  a  dry  anger;  for  his 
Kitty,  playing  the  victim  while  exercising  such — yes !  dash 
it,  the  only  word  was  spite! — had  added  exasperation  to 
his  sense  of  injury ! 

"Come  in,  come  in,  my  Lord,"  Mistress  Molly  wheeled 
upon  him  with  a  laugh,  if  Denis  could  only  have  recognized 
the  fact,  more  full  of  spite  than  his  Lady's  utmost  petu- 
lance. "Pray  have  you  heard  what  I've  been  saying? 
Oh,  you  needn't  blink  at  me  like  that,  Brother  Stafford, 
I'll  say  it  all  over  again.  I'll  say  that  my  Lady  Kil- 

278 


AN  INDELICATE  FUSS 


croney  is  the  most  jealous  cat  in  the  whole  of  England. 
She  has  left  me  out  of  her  Royal  ball,  has  she?  I'm  not 
virtuous  enough !  What,  my  Lord,  you  kissed  my  wrist  on 
the  parade — and  if  I  say  it  was  my  wrist,  Tom  Stafford? 
I  ought  to  know!  and  Kitty — oh,  the  virtuous  Kitty! — 
and  her  old  cross  Royal  thought  to  see  the  kind  of  shock- 
ing spectacle  your  virtuous  people  are  fond  of  thinking 
they  see!  My  Lady  was  always  jealous  of  poor  little  me! 
I  don't  care  who  hears  me.  I  say — hold  your  tongue, 
Tom ! — 'tis  a  conspiracy,  'tis  a  scandal.  I'll  make  Mr. 
Lafone  tell  His  Royal  Highness  all  about  it.  I'll  go  to 
law  on  it.  There  can't  be  more  scandal  about  me  than 
there  will  be  for  being  the  only  one  of  the  ladies  at  Wey- 
mouth  left  out  to-morrow  night!" 

Mr.  Stafford,  who  had  been  glinting  at  Denis  between 
his  bored  eyelids,  now  opened  them  a  fraction  wider. 

"For  heaven's  sake,  good  lad,"  said  he,  "get  her  a 
ticket." 

"Get  her  one  yourself." 

"My  good  Kil,  your  Lady  does  not  even  know  that  I'm 
in  Weymouth." 

"Why,  then,  you've  but  got  to  show  yourself.  You're 
not  her  husband,"  added  Kilcroney  bitterly. 

"Not  at  all !"  cried  Mr.  Stafford  with  some  energy,  "it 
shall  never  be  said  that  I  have  set  myself  to  curry  favor 
with  Kitty  Kilcroney,  more  especially  since  'tis  my  own 
sister-in-law  that  she's  treating  so  uncivil.  Nay,  Kil,  I'll 
keep  out  of  it.  I'm  only  giving  you  a  bit  of  advice  for 
your  own  sake.  Get  her  a  ticket.  'Twill  save  a  lot  of 
bother  in  the  end.  And  I  do  assure  you,"  as  Denis 
laughed  hollowly,  "  'twill  have  an  excellent  effect  on  so- 
ciety generally.  There  has  been  far  too  much  fuss  about 
an  incident  which  should  have  been — ahem ! — passed  over !" 

279 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Lord  Kilcroney  dropped  upon  the  horsehair  sofa  which 
creaked  dismally. 

"And  pray,"  said  he,  in  a  tone  of  sarcasm,  "when  you 
had  dealings  with  my  Lady  yourself — and  you  had  a  few, 
one  way  and  another — did  you  find  her  so  easy  to 
manage?" 

Now  Mr.  Stafford  had,  somewhere  hidden  away,  an  old 
grudge  against  Lady  Kilcroney,  who  had  not  only  jilted 
him,  but  had  scored  off  him  notably  on  more  than  one 
occasion.  Mr.  Stafford  was  far  from  approving  of  Molly, 
whom  indeed,  it  may  be  said,  he  heartily  disliked,  but  to 
find  a  close  relative  pilloried  on  your  arrival  at  a  fashion- 
able watering  place  is  a  set-down  to  a  Beau's  pride.  He 
was  inclined  to  champion  her.  Under  his  languid  airs  he 
was  very  wroth  with  my  Lady  Kilcroney ;  she  was  making 
an  indelicate  fuss ;  she  had  lost  her  usual  tactful  grasp  of 
the  situation  through  ridiculous  jealousy.  After  all,  as 
Kilcroney  himself  represented,  there  couldn't  have  been 
much  harm  in  a  kiss  bestowed  on  the  open  parade  in  a 
high  wind ;  between  wrist  or  cheek,  like  enough  there  was 
a  confusion  by  one  or  other  of  the  parties.  But  Kil- 
croney's  next  remark  made  him  jump  to  his  feet. 

"As  for  a  ticket  for  the  show,  me  lad,  I'm  not  to  have 
one  either.'* 

"Kil!" 

"My  Lord !" 

Molly  broke  into  shriller  laughter  and  beat  her  palms 
together. 

"And  his  Royal  Highness  coming  and  all !" 

"Aye,  and  by  the  same  token  I  saw  that  august  per- 
sonage driving  his  curricle  along  the  sea  road  on  my  way 
here,"  said  Mr.  Stafford,  relapsing  into  his  usual  rather 
insolent  serenity.  Your  fine  gentleman  will  not  let  him- 

280 


AN  INDELICATE  FUSS 


self  be  betrayed  into  emotion  if  he  can  help  it.  "And  I 
was  less  flattered  than  ever  at  your  taking  me  for  him 
yesterday,  Kil." 

His  sister-in-law  looked  at  him  curiously.  "But  my 
Lord  Kilcroney  is  right,"  she  cried  maliciously.  "Since 
you've  grown  so  prodigious  fat,  Brother-in-law." 

Then  having  planted  the  pin-prick  which  she  never  al- 
lowed to  escape  her,  she  returned  to  the  real  subject  of 
interest. 

"Not  to  be  present  at  your  own  wife's  entertainment? 
Oh,  come,  my  Lord,  this  is  an  Irish  way  of  evading  the 
question!  You  must  think  us  monstrous  simple  to 
credit " 

It  was  a  morning  of  interruptions;  for  here  Miss 
Pounce  and  the  bandboxes  marched  unexpectedly  in  upon 
them.  She  was  breathing  quickly  and  speaking  with 
volubility. 

My  Lady  Verney's  own  woman  had  informed  her  of 
Mrs.  Lafone's  address  in  the  town,  and  she  had  ventured 
to  present  herself  with  the  very  latest,  positively  the  very 
latest,  to  show  to  her  most  esteemed  customers.  Miss 
Pounce  was  quite  sure  that  Mistress  Lafone  and  Mistress 

Stafford "Is  your  lady  here,  sir?"  she  curtsied  to  the 

Beau  who  was  ogling  her  jocosely.  "Not  till  next  week? 
Oh,  dear,  what  a  pity!  I'd  have  been  honored,  sir,  to 
supply  a  hat  or  a  head  for  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Stafford. 
But  as  I  was  saying,  I  am  quite  sure  that  you,  Madam, 
and  your  sister,  being  such  kind  patrons  of  the  establish- 
ment, Madame  Mirabel  would  have  taken  it  very  bad  of 
me,  very  bad  of  me  indeed,  had  I  failed  to  seek  you  out." 

Denis  Kilcroney  was  sitting  erect  upon  the  sofa,  with 
his  arms  folded,  and  a  stern  glance  upon  the  glib  Pamela. 
This  young  person  avoided  meeting  the  glance  in  question. 

281 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


She  felt  that  her  swift  appearance  at  Mrs.  Lafone's  lodg- 
ings on  the  heels  of  my  Lord's  stormy  exit,  was,  for  all  her 
clever  patter,  a  little  too  obvious  a  coincidence. 

"Pve  a  head  here,"  went  on  Miss  Pounce,  beginning  to 
set  down  her  bandboxes  and  making  the  most  theatrical 
effects  with  the  undoing  of  strings  and  rustling  of  tissue 
paper.  "Well,  really,  the  Duchess  of  Hampshire  wanted 
right  or  wrong  to  have  it  for  her  ball  last  week  when  she 
entertained  the  Prince,  as  you  may  have  seen  by  the 
news  sheet,  Madam.  But  I  says  to  her,  'No,  Your  Grace,' 
I  says, '  'tis  too  elfin  for  Your  Grace.  Your  Grace  wants, 
so  to  speak,  the  Goddess  effect.'  And  as  I  says  it,  if 
you'll  believe  me,  I  thought  of  you,  ma'am." 

Mrs.  Lafone  did  not  believe  her,  but  she  stood,  hesi- 
tating a  little,  over  the  bandboxes,  torn  between  a  pettish 
desire  to  dismiss  with  obloquy  the  wretch  who  had  come 
to  turn  the  dagger  in  the  wound,  and  the  budding  hope 
that  Mr.  Stafford,  who  had  plenty  of  money,  might  be 
moved  to  do  the  generous  for  once,  and  present  his  injured 
sister-in-law  with  a  token  of  his  esteem. 

Miss  Pounce  drew  out  what  was,  indeed,  a  fairylike 
wreath  of  pale  blue  convolvulus,  and  Molly  exclaimed  in 
rapture.  In  a  wink  Miss  Pounce  had  placed  it  on  the  fair 
disheveled  head. 

"Oh,  Madam,  if  ever  there  was  a  perfect  vision !  Look, 
Mr.  Stafford,  Sir !  Look,  my  Lord,  if  I  may  make  so  bold ; 

isn't  Mrs.  Lafone  fitted,  so  to  speak,  like  a — like  a " 

She  faltered  on  the  simile,  for  neither  gentlemen  showed 
any  disposition  to  rise  to  the  occasion. 

My  Lord  cast  another  glance  upon  the  milliner,  which 
said  as  plain  as  words:  "Don't  think  you  can  take  me  in, 
my  good  girl,"  and  then  with  a  formal  bow  to  the  siren 

282 


AN  INDELICATE  FUSS 


and  a  wave  of  the  hand  to  Stafford,  he  sauntered  out  of 
the  room. 

Mr.  Stafford  flung  a  glance  of  mocking  pity  after  him, 
whistling  a  ballad  tune  under  his  breath;  then  he  put  his 
hand  into  his  pocket,  but  it  was  only  to  produce  a  snuff- 
box, from  which  he  proceeded  to  inhale. 

Molly  pettishly  tore  the  wreath  from  her  curls,  de- 
claring in  her  most  acrid  accents: 

"Really,  Miss  Pounce,  this  is  a  great  liberty.  I  can 
order  my  hats  for  myself  when  I  require  them,  and  then 
I  usually  write  to  Madame  Eglantine  in  Paris.  And  any- 
how I  am  not  going  into  society  by  doctor's  orders.  I  am 
here  for  my  health.  Pray,  Mr.  Stafford,  will  you  pull 
the  bell-rope  that  Madame  Mirabel's  assistant  may  be 
shown  to  the  door." 

Miss  Pounce  started  to  repack  the  wreath,  with  further 
extraordinary  manipulations  of  tissue  paper.  She  was  all 
bland  apology.  She  craved  a  hundred  pardons.  She  had 
made  so  sure  that  Mrs.  Lafone  would  be  going  to  my 
Lady  Kilcroney's  ball  at  the  Assembly  Rooms  to-morrow 
night.  She  hoped  and  trusted  it  would  be  as  great  a 
success  as  the  Duchess  of  Hampshire's  last  week,  and  that 
His  Royal  Highness  would  be  equally  delighted  with  his 
entertainment.  Though  of  course — here  the  milliner 
genteelly  tittered — "it  was  not  likely  he  would  be  equally 
demonstrative  to  his  hostess.  Was  it  possible  Madam  had 
not  heard  how  His  Royal  Highness,  saying  'It  is  a  Sov- 
ereign's privilege  to  salute  another  Sovereign  and  you  are 
Queen  of  Beauty,'  had  kissed  Her  Grace  of  Hampshire  on 
the  cheek  after  the  minuet — oh,  indeed,  she  had  danced 
like  an  angel  and  looked  exceedingly  well ! — before  the 
whole  assembly?" 

"Dear  me !"  said  Mr.  Stafford,  with  humorous  meaning. 

283 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


"And  I'm  sure,  I  hope,"  cried  acrid  Molly,  "that  His 
Royal  Highness  may  be  as  prodigal  of  caresses  to  my  Lady 
Kilcroney.  Oh !"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands,  "if  that 
is  the  kind  of  fit  that's  on  him*  and  he  was  to  kiss  my 
sweetest  Kitty  before  his  Royal  Mamma  and  the  lovely 
Princesses,  what  a  monstrous  joke  it  would  be!" 

Mr.  Stafford  stepped  forward  and  opened  the  door. 

"Allow  me,  my  dear,"  said  he,  and,  with  what  Pamela 
thought  an  insufferable  free-and-easiness,  lifted  her  band- 
boxes one  after  the  other  into  the  passage  and  literally 
bowed  her  out. 

She  stood,  snapping  her  fingers  and  biting  her  nails,  to 
linger  and  listen  as  long  as  she  dared.  Up  to  this  she 
had,  after  all,  but  poor  gleanings  to  bring  back  to  her 
Aunt  Lydia  for  the  retailing  into  her  patroness's  ear, 
save,  indeed,  the  sad  verification  of  my  Lord's  presence  in 
the  Minx's  lodgings.  But  she  saw  that  she  was  suspected 
by  one,  if  not  both,  of  the  gentlemen,  and  however  neces- 
sary it  is  for  a  young  milliner  to  make  quite  certain  that 
the  cords  of  her  boxes  are  properly  tied,  it  is  not  an  opera- 
tion that  can  be  prolonged  indefinitely.  Some  phrases  she 
did  catch. 

"The  joke  of  it  is  that  the  Prince — "  Mr.  Stafford  was 
observing. 

The  rest  of  the  remark  was  lost;  it  was  followed  by  a 
crow  from  Molly  Lafone. 

"Not  to  be  there  after  all?  Serve  her  right!"  Then 
in  another  tone.  "Oh,  I  have  the  drollest  inspiration !" 

"Hush!" 

Pounce  pricked  her  ear  to  its  utmost  alertness. 

"I  have  the  drollest  inspiration,"  said  Mrs.  Lafone. 
"Since  you  say,  Tom,  you're  poz  that  His  Royal  Highness 

284 


AN  INDELICATE  FUSS 


don't  mean  to  attend  my  Lady's  ball, — and  I  say  it  serves 
her  right — why  should  you  not  go  in  his  stead  ?" 

"Go  in  his  stead?"  Mr.  Stafford  blankly  repeated  then. 
"You're  crazy,  Molly!" 

"And  not  at  all !  Oh,  it  can  be  managed,  I  do  assure 
you !  Oh,  it  would  be  too  droll,  too  delightful !  And  it 
would  be  better  than  droll,  for  'twould  be  a  certain  way 
to  heal  the  breach,  the  sad,  sad  breach  between  our  poor 
Kil  and  that  same  jealous  Kitty.  Pray,  Brother-in-law, 
before  you  interrupt,  let  me  speak  one  word !  Kitty's 
Royals,  King,  Queen  and  Princesses,  will  but  pass  through 
the  Assembly  Rooms.  'Tis  the  way  of  Royalty.  'Tis  all 
any  one  would  expect  of  them,  more  especially  as  His 
Majesty  is  so  out  of  health.  What  is  to  prevent  the 
Prince  changing  his  mind,  and  popping  in  for  late  supper? 
By  the  Prince,  I  mean  you,  Tom.  Come  now,  you  know 
'tis  a  thing  he  might  do  very  well?  People  would  only 
say  he  could  not  bear  the  tedium  of  dancing  at  his  Royal 
parents'  heels.  Come  now,  Mr.  Stafford,  sir !  I  see  it 
in  your  eye.  You  know  'tis  a  trick  could  be  played  on 
my  Lady  with  perfect  success.  Oh,  you  need  not  present 
yourself  on  the  scene  till  every  one  should  have  departed 
save  the  select  little  circle,  those  sweet,  dear,  charming 
ladies  and  their  stupid  husbands  who  won't  have  anything 
to  say  to  poor  little  me!  And  then,  oh,  Mr.  Stafford! 
you  must  be  monstrous  charmed,  and  monstrous  gallant, 
and — well,  monstrous  tipsy  if  you  like,  and  you  will  but 
the  closer  ape  our  dear  future  sovereign!  And  then 
(Oh,  how  you  gape!)  don't  you  see?  You  must  kiss  my 
Lady,  and  if  she  don't  have  to  forgive  my  Lord  after- 
wards  " 

"Foh!"  said  Mr.  Stafford.    "  'Tis  the  rankest  nonsense. 
And  I'm  not  so  prodigious  like  the  Prince  as  all  that.'* 

285 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


"Oh,  but  you  are,  Mr.  Staff ordl  Didn't  my  Lord 
Kilcroney  take  you  for  him  only  yesterday?  With  one 
of  those  new  white  chokers,  and  a  frill  to  the  shirt  and  a 
bit  of  blue  ribbon  across  it  and  a  new  wig  with  a  topknot 
to  it,  and  a  fine  brocade  waistcoat  on  your  fine  figure — 
you  were  always  so  clever  at  the  acting,  Brother-in-law ! — 
I'd  defy  even  your  Prue  to  find  you  out!" 

Mr.  Stafford  was  apparently  unconvinced,  for  Molly 
Lafone's  accents  changed  from  wheedling  to  taunting. 

"And  indeed,  Tom,  I  thought  you'd  more  spirit.  Here 
I  give  you  such  a  chance,  as  never  was,  of  paying  my 
Lady  out  for  the  trick  she  played  on  you.  Why,  she  made 
you  the  laughingstock  of  Bath.  Oh,  I  have  heard  such 
droll  tales — how  rather  than  marry  you  she  made  my 
Lord — Denis  O'Hara,  as  he  was  then — dress  up  as  a 
woman  and  pretend  to  be  your  previous  wife  at  the  altar 
steps.  Are  you  so  mean  spirited  as  to  forget?  And 
'tisn't  as  if  it  wouldn't  be  the  best  turn  in  the  world  for 
my  Lord,  and  him  so  good-natured,  and  treated  so  shame- 
ful! I  thought  gentlemen  stood  by  each  other.  For  a 
wife  to  insult  her  husband  so!" 

"It  mightn't  put  me  in  such  very  good  odor  with  His 
Royal  Highness,"  said  Mr.  Stafford ;  Pamela  knew  by  his 
tone  that  he  was  faltering. 

"As  if  any  one  was  likely  to  tell  him. — However,  if 
you're  afraid,  Brother-in-law " 

"You're  a  little  devil,"  said  Mr.  Stafford. 

And  Pamela  picked  up  her  boxes  and  flew.  She  had 
heard  enough  and  she  knew  that  Mistress  Lafone  had 
carried  her  point. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN   WHICH  KITTY   IS   MORE   INCOMPARABLE   THAN   EVEE 

OOD  God!"  said  Nan  Day,  under  her  breath.  "If 
that  is  not  the  Lafone  piece!  My  dearest  Kitty, 
what  insolence!" 

"I  invited  her,"  said  my  Lady  Kilcroney,  quietly. 

"Kitty!" 

"By  special  messenger  to-day." 

"Kitty!!!" 

"I  particularly  wished  for  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Lafone 
here  to-night." 

The  siren  was  now  approaching,  crowned  with  the  very 
wreath  she  had  cast  back  at  Pamela  Pounce,  writhing  like 
a  lissome  snake,  in  the  billows  and  laces  of  her  changing 
sea-green  ball  gown.  Nan  watched  Kitty's  urbanity  and 
the  minx's  unconcealed  impertinence,  with  ever  growing 
amazement. 

"Am  I  too  late  to  see  the  dear,  dear  Royals?" 

"Unfortunately  Their  Majesties  stayed  but  a  short 
time.  The  King  was  feeling  unwell." 

"Oh,  my  dearest  Lady  Kilcroney,  what  a  disappoint- 
ment for  you !" 

Kitty  had  a  tilting  smile. 

"Less  to  me  than  to  other  people,  perhaps,  my  dear 
Lafone,  since  I  have  the  privilege  of  being  so  constantly 
in  Their  Majesties'  company." 

"True,  true.  It  must  be  a  sad  fatigue  for  you.  Her 
Majesty  has  no  mercy  on  her  ladies'  legs,  I  always  heard." 
The  minx's  eyes  were  wandering.  "But  His  Royal  High- 

287 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


ness  has  remained  I  trust?  'Twas  the  talk  of  the  place 
how  he  was  expected." 

"His  Royal  Highness  has  left  Weymouth,  I  under- 
stand." 

Kitty  was  really  too  unconcerned.  It  could  take  in 
nobody,  Lady  Anne  Day  thought.  She  bit  into  a  rose  of 
her  bouquet  and  wished  she  could  beat  Lafone  about  the 
head  with  it. 

"Oh,  my  dearest  Lady  Kilcroney,  who  could  have  told 
you  such  a  tale?  His  Royal  Highness  is  even  now  sitting 
at  the  window  of  the  County  Club  eating  lobster  by  the 
light  of  a  silver  candelabra.  I  saw  him  as  my  chair  was 
carried  by.  Surely  he  will  present  himself  at  supper 
time?  The  Prince  is  always  so  courteous,  so  considerate." 

"Pray,  Mrs.  Lafone,  the  quadrille  is  beginning.  Have 
you  a  partner?  Or  shall  I  provide  you  with  a  gentle- 
man?" 

Molly  rolled  her  glistening  green  eyes  with  well-feigned 
anxiety  from  side  to  side. 

"Well,  there's  an  old  promise  to  my  Lord  Kilcroney. 
He  made  me  swear  to  give  him  the  first  dance  at  the  next 
assembly,  wherever  we  might  happen  to  meet.  Ah! — is 
he  not  yonder?  Nay,  'tis  quite  another  countenance! 
But  he  will  be  at  your  Ladyship's  side  in  a  moment,  I  make 
no  doubt." 

"My  Lord  has  left  Weymouth." 

"Oh,  my  dearest  Lady  Kilcroney,  what  a  sad  strange 
contretemps!" 

Even  as  she  spoke  that  green  eye  became  fixed.  One  of 
Kitty's  magnificent  footmen  was  approaching,  bearing  a 
letter  on  a  salver.  My  Lady  read  it ;  glanced  at  Mrs.  La- 
fone, and  then  turned  to  Lady  Anne:  "The  Prince  is  com- 
ing after  all,  Nan.  How  strange" — she  turned  back  to 

288 


MORE  INCOMPARABLE  THAN  EVER 

Molly — "that  you  should  this  moment  have  suggested  the 
possibility." 

Mistress  Lafone  had  recognized  in  a  single  flash,  the 
great  folded  sheet  that  she  had  herself  prepared  and  sealed 
with  so  much  amusement  to  the  accompaniment  of  the  pro- 
tests of  the  rather  doubtful  yet  not  altogether  unwilling 
Beau.  The  seal  had  been  Molly's  triumph.  What  will 
not  a  determined  woman  accomplish?  She  had  actually 
got  possession  of  the  kind  of  wafer  habitually  used  by  the 
Prince.  Like  mistress,  like  maid,  it  is  said:  Mistress 
Molly's  own  maid  was  as  much  of  a  minx  as  her  mistress. 
She  had  started  flirtations  with  every  likely  scoundrel 
about  Weymouth  before  she  had  been  a  fortnight  in  the 
place.  One  of  the  drawers  at  the  Crown  Inn  had  thought 
it  a  small  price  to  pay  for  the  smiles  of  Jenny  Jinks  to  give 
her,  as  a  keepsake,  a  few  wafers  out  of  the  Prince's  own 
ivory  box,  off  the  writing  table  in  the  room  occupied  by 
His  Royal  Highness. 

"The  Prince  coming  after  all !"  cried  Nan  Day  joyfully. 
She  was  genuinely  fond  of  Kitty,  but  even  if  she  had  not 
been  so,  to  see  Lafone  discomfited  would  have  been  delight- 
ful to  her. 

This  latter  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  tittering,  and  was 
fain  to  retire,  fanning  herself  violently,  and  simulating  a 
threat  of  the  vapors. 

Lady  Anne  looked  after  her  contemptuously. 

"She  can  hardly  conceal  her  spite,"  quoth  she.  "Ah, 
Kitty,  I  believe  you  knew  the  Prince  was  coming  all  the 
while  and  that  was  why  you  invited  that  little  rascal !" 

Kitty  had  upon  this,  as  even  the  obtuse  Nan  could  not 
but  notice,  a  singular  smile. 

Certainly  it  would  have  been  a  thousand  pities  had  my 
Lady  Kilcroney's  entertainment  fallen  flat,  for  never  had 

289 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


even  her  bright  wits  and  long  purse  made  more  charming 
and  sumptuous  preparations. 

The  Assembly  Rooms  had  been  transmogrified  into  a 
fairy  bower,  with  hangings  of  white  silk  and  garlands  of 
roses.  The  band  was  surpassing  itself:  the  supper,  no 
doubt,  would  be  unsurpassable.  There  was  a  special  sup- 
per room  prepared  off  the  great  ballroom,  where,  it  was 
hinted,  such  delicacies  would  be  served  as  would  tickle  the 
jaded  palate  of  the  Prince.  If  he  had  not  come  'twould 
have  been  a  catastrophe.  Yes,  positively  a  catastrophe  for 
my  Lady  Kilcroney. 

The  moment  approached  for  the  appearance  of  the 
Royal  guest.  The  most  pompous  of  the  company  had 
taken  its  departure,  closely  upon  the  heels  of  Royalty, 
and  now  there  was  left  none  but  that  select  circle — to 
which  Mistress  Lafone  had  referred  with  so  much 
acrimony — and  a  sprinkling  of  young  naval  officers ;  quite 
negligible  beings. 

Nevertheless,  one  of  these  was  now,  to  suit  Mistress 
Molly's  purpose  very  well.  Most  unaccountably,  she,  \vho 
was  generally  surrounded  by  the  male  sex,  found  herself 
neglected  to-night  by  the  gentlemen  of  Kitty's  coterie. 
Perhaps  her  mermaid  charms  seemed  more  dangerous  than 
alluring  after  the  trap  into  which  my  Lord  Kilcroney  had 
fallen.  Anyway,  she  was  glad  to  hang  upon  the  arm  of  a 
blushing  youth  in  blue;  and  the  celebrated  band  striking 
up  "God  save  the  Prince  of  Wales"  with  a  great  stroke  of 
bows,  planted  herself,  with  her  cavalier,  near  the  entrance 
to  watch ;  her  heart  beating  high  with  ecstasy  and  fear — 
for  the  appearance  of  Brother-in-law  Tom  as  the  Prince 
of  Wales. 

A  stout  gentleman  in  the  very  pink  of  fashion  with  all 
his  double-chins  majestically  sunk  in  swaths  of  fine  cam- 

290 


brie,  with  ruffles,  blue  ribbon  and  a  star ;  with  calves  that 
must  have  made  Kitty's  footmen  green  with  envy,  and 
shoulders  that  would  have  been  remarkable  in  a  guards- 
man, advanced  stepping  with  the  inimitable  carriage  of 
the  great. 

Again  an  hysterical  burst  of  laughter  rose  in  Molly's 
throat.  The  next  moment  she  pinched  the  arm  of  the 
young  naval  gentleman  so  fiercely  that  he  turned  in  alarm. 

"What  is  the  matter?" 

"I  am  swooning!"  said  Molly  with  a  gasp;  and  swoon 
she  did,  and  no  mistake  about  it  1 

However  cunningly  Mr.  Stafford  might  make  himself  up, 
however  paint  and  pad  and  bewig  himself,  strut  and  look 
majestic,  he  could  not  have  given  to  his  handsome  brown 
eyes  the  dull  protruding  stare,  nor  to  his  features  that 
thickness  which  a  plethoric  habit  was  inducing  in  the  Heir 
to  the  Throne ;  and  Mr.  Stafford  would  not  have  been  es- 
corted by  the  gentlemen  of  the  Prince's  own  suite;  and, 
most  certain  of  all,  he  would  not  have  had  my  Lord  Kil- 
croney  by  his  side ! 

The  dreadful  discovery  flashed  upon  the  unfortunate 
Molly  with  the  still  more  appalling  realization  that  the 
next  few  minutes  must  inevitably  see  the  bogus  Prince 
present  himself  on  the  heels  of  the  genuine  one;  that  all 
must  be  discovered,  to  the  everlasting  undoing  of  those 
concerned ! 

"Oh,  if  I  have  but  the  time  to  warn  him !"  thought  she, 
but  Nemesis  overtook  her  in  the  shape  of  that  real  swoon. 

"You  go  on  slapping  her  hands,  auntie,  while  I  burn 
another  feather.  Dear,  to  be  sure,  don't  she  look  bad! 
Downright  silly,  I  call  it,  for  ladies  to  be  lacing  themselves 

291 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


so  tight,  and  she  as  thin  as  a  fish  to  begin  with !  I  declare, 
when  I  cut  those  green  laces,  they  regular  popped." 

As  through  layers  of  swirling  mist  which  both  blinded 
and  deafened  her,  Mrs.  Lafone  vaguely  caught  these 
words.  Another  voice  penetrated  more  sharply  to  her 
growing  consciousness. 

"And  if  you  was  to  pull  yourself  in  a  bit,  Pamela,  you'd 
look  a  deal  more  genteel.  A  well-looking  girl  like  you,  with 
all  your  advantages  and  gowned,  I  will  say  that  for  you, 
with  uncommon  taste,  to  go  about  with  such  a  milkmaid 
figure !  I'd  drink  a  tablespoon  of  white  vinegar  night  and 
morning,  if  I  was  you — Drat!  how  green  she  do  keep! 
Slap  a  bit  harder,  child.  Fm  all  of  a  dither  to  get  into 
that  little  balcony  that  overlooks  the  supper  room,  and  see 
my  Lady  and  His  Highness  and  all." 

"A  balcony,  is  there?'*  Pamela's  pleasant  accents  ques- 
tioned. 

"Yes,  my  dear,  and  you  can  come  along  with  me,  once 
we  get  the  life  back  into  Madam.  A  minstrels'  gallery  they 
call  it,  overlooking  the  hall.  Oh,  I  had  a  peep  just  now 
when  I  ran  for  the  hartshorn!  'Tis  the  elegantest  spec- 
tacle you  ever  saw ;  to  look  down  on  the  supper  table  was 
like  fairyland. — Ain't  she  sighed?  She  was  always  an  ag- 
gravating piece,"  said  the  elder  Miss  Pounce  with  some 
asperity. 

Molly  lay  with  closed  eyes  and  fully  recovered  wits. 
She  was  debating  whether  to  prolong  the  fit,  and  let  her- 
self be  carried  back  seemingly  unconscious  to  her  lodg- 
ings, would  not  be  the  best  way  out  of  an  unpleasant 
dilemma.  It  would  annoy  these  two  impertinent  females : 
that  was  an  added  advantage. 

"Was  they  already  at  table  when  you  looked  in  on  them, 

292 


MORE  INCOMPARABLE  THAN  EVER 

auntie?"  asked  Madame  Mirabel's  partner  between  two 
brisk  smacks  of  Mrs.  Lafone's  palm. 

"They  was,  my  dear. — Well,  since  there  don't  seem  to  be 
a  mite  of  use  trying  to  get  her  to  swallow  anything  I'll 
have  that  drop  of  ratafia  myself.  It  sort  of  turns  me  to  see 
people  that  color — they  was  all  a-sitting  round  the  supper 
table,  His  Highness  beside  my  Lady,  and  my  Lord  with 
Lady  Flo,  and  just  the  rest  of  my  Lady's  intimates.  The 
supper  table  looking  beautiful  with  the  best  gold  plate. 
And  then  red,  red  roses  my  Lady  paid  such  a  sum  for. 
And  the  Prince's  topknot  shining  lovely  and  your  wreath 
— 'twas  the  naturalest  thing.  You  could  have  sworn,  the 
dew  had  just  fallen  on  it!  But  my  Lady  Anne's  blue  tur- 
ban's a  trifle  heavy  for  my  taste,  Pam.  She  was  a-sitting 
rather  glum  I  thought ;  but  perhaps  that  was  because  she 
didn't  have  her  gentleman." 

"Her  gentleman?" 

"My  Lady  was  counting  on  Mr.  Stafford " 

There  was  a  double  cry. 

"Mr.  Stafford !"  screamed  Pamela  and  Mrs.  Lafone  to- 
gether. Pamela  dropped  the  hand  she  was  slapping  with 
such  good  will,  and  Mrs.  Lafone  sat  bolt  upright. 

"Did  you  say  my  Lady  was  expecting  Mr.  Stafford?" 
asked  Pamela.  She  was  in  such  amazement  she  could  not 
give  a  thought  to  the  patient's  miraculous  recovery. 

"Well,  and  upon  my  word,  and  why  should  not  my  Lady 
invite  Mr.  Stafford?  What's  took  you?  And  as  for  you, 
ma'am,  if  ever  I  see  a  lady  come  out  of  a  swound,  as  you 
have,  sudden  like  this  minute " 

But  the  invalid  interrupted,  rising  to  her  feet,  clasping 
her  disheveled  head  with  both  hands  and  staring  from  one 
to  the  other,  as  if  she  or  they  were  mad. 

"When  was  Mr.  Stafford  invited?    What  do  you  know 

293 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


about  his  having  been  expected?     Heavens,  woman,  an- 
swer me!    'Tis  a  matter  of  life  and  death  for  me." 

"Mercy  on  us!  Shall  you  be  giving  us  the  screaming 
vapors  next,  ma'am?  I  happen  to  know — if  you  must 
have  it — that  my  Lady  only  heard  of  his  presence  in  Wey- 
mouth  at  seven  of  the  clock  this  evening  and  nothing  would 
serve  her  but  he  must  be  sent  to  that  instant  minute." 

"Take  me  to  the  balcony  you  spoke  of,"  said  Mrs.  La- 
fone  in  an  extinct  voice. 

Her  clothes  were  hanging  off  her  back,  as  Lydia, 
shockedly  pointed  out ;  her  hair  was  a  sight  for  the  crows ; 
and  my  Lady  had  only  given  leave  for  her  own  woman 
(though  she  wouldn't  mind  Pam).  Lydia  felt  sure  that 
her  Ladyship  wouldn't,  so  to  speak,  care  about  people  as 
isn't  asked  to  the  supper  party,  spying  on  His  Highness 
in  that  common  kind  of  way ! 

But  Mrs.  Lafone  produced  a  gold  piece  with  so  much 
promptitude,  that  her  bodice  was  pinched  together,  her 
mantle  brought,  and  her  still  tottering  steps  guided  to  the 
upper  passage  and  to  the  gallery  in  a  remarkably  short 
space  of  time.  The  balcony  was  filled  with  palms  and 
flowering  plants.  If  any  one  had  thought  of  looking  up, 
and  chanced  to  see  the  narrow  white  face  and  fiery  eyes 
peering  down  at  them,  they  might  have  thought  some 
witch  had  flown  in  on  her  broomstick  to  cast  a  baleful  spell 
upon  the  cheerful  company. 

The  two  Miss  Pounces  quite  forgot  their  uncomfortable 
companion  in  the  thrilling  interest  of  the  scene.  Lively 
were  the  whispers  they  exchanged  across  the  stem  of  a 
stout  tree  fern. 

"La,  aunt,  if  that  isn't  Mr.  Stafford  down  there,  as 
cool  as  a  cucumber!  Well,  to  be  sure;  ain't  the  world  a 
strange  place  ?" 

294 


MORE  INCOMPARABLE  THAN  EVER 

"Cool  he  always  was,  as  nobody  knows  better  than  me. 
The  way  he  on  and  off  with  that  poor  piece,  Madame 
Eglantine,  when  she  kept  a  milliner's  shop  at  Bath,  and 
proposing  to  my  Lady  all  the  while,  and  she,  the  rich 
widow  Bellairs.  Well — cucumbers  was  not  in  it !" 

Pamela  Pounce  was  craning  eagerly  forward.  Cer- 
tainly to  see  Mr.  Stafford  in  propria  persona  sitting 
genially  in  the  company  of  the  Prince,  the  guest  of  my 
Lady  Kilcroney,  after  conspiring  to  humiliate  and  con- 
found her,  was  the  last  development  she  had  expected  of 
the  night's  drama. 

That  my  Lord  Kilcroney  should  be  playing  host  to  the 
wife  who  had  with  contumely  dismissed  him  was  another 
matter.  Miss  Pamela  Pounce  was  by  no  means  so  amazed 
to  see  him  sitting  at  the  supper  table  as  Mrs.  Lafone  had 
been  to  see  him  walk  in. 

"The  little  cat !"  thought  Pam.  "  'Twas  a  real  fit  sure 
enough  and  serve  her  right.  She  ain't  succeeded  this  time 
— though  she  came  near  enough  to  it — in  separating  the 
elegantest  couple  in  all  society.  What  a  good  thing  it  is, 
Pam,  my  girl"  (she  was  fond  of  apostrophizing  herself 
thus),  "that  you  ain't  too  squeamish  to  do  a  bit  of  spying 
in  season  and  listen  outside  doors." 

"His  Royal  Highness  is  taking  a  glass  of  wine  with 
Mr.  Stafford,"  whispered  Lydia  sibilantly  in  a  prodigious 
state  of  excitement. 

Pamela  felt  an  abrupt  movement  beside  her  and 
glancing  round,  beheld  Mrs.  Lafone  darting  from  the  gal- 
lery like  a  snake  disturbed.  The  girl  drew  a  long  breath. 
The  air  was  easier  to  her  lungs  now  that  this  miasma  of 
malice  was  removed  from  it. 

His  Royal  Highness  was  most  agreeably  and  flatter- 
ingly inebriated  at  the  end  of  Kitty's  supper  party.  He 

295 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


declared  thickly  that  it  had  been  a  most  delightful  evening. 
If  he  did  not  salute  her  cheek  with  his  Royal  lips  as  he 
had  saluted  the  Duchess  of  Hampshire's,  he  mumbled  her 
hand  with  repeated  kisses.  But  Kitty's  triumph  was  not 
yet  complete.  Its  culminating  point  was  only  reached 
when  she  found  herself  with  my  Lord,  back  in  the  with- 
drawing-room  of  her  lodgings,  accompanied  on  her  express 
invitation,  by  Mr.  Stafford. 

She  flung  off  her  wraps  and  standing  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  with  rather  a  tearful  smile  held  out  a  hand 
to  each. 

"Denis,  my  love — Stafford,  my  old  friend — we  have  each 
of  us,  I  dare  say,  things  against  each  other  to  forgive  and 
forget,  but  for  my  part  'tis  all  done  with  already." 

"Ah,  my  Lady  Kilcroney !  Ah,  Kitty !"  cried  the  Beau, 
moved  out  of  his  wont,  and  pressing  the  little  hand  against 
his  breast,  before  lifting  it  to  his  lips.  "When  I  received 
your  note  warning  me  of  the  ass  I  would  be  making  of 
myself  in  trying  to  get  the  better  of  you,  I  thought — dash 
me,  I  thought — there's  not  a  woman  in  the  world  to  com- 
pare with  her  for  generosity  and  wit!  And  how  in  the 
name  of  God,  did  you  know,  Kitty?"  he  cried,  with  a 
change  of  tone.  "  'Pon  my  soul,  never  tell  me  that  piece, 
Molly,  betrayed  me  for  an  invitation?" 

"By  no  means,  sir,  the  invitation  was  sent  to  her — well ! 
as  a  little  punishment.  She  came  all  agog  to  see  my  dis- 
comfiture and  Lydia,  my  woman,  tells  me  she  was  so  over- 
set at  the  sight  of  His  Highness  that  she  swooned." 

My  Lord  by  this  time  had  an  arm  about  his  wife's  waist. 

"  'Twas  I  told  me  wife,"  said  he  in  his  richest  brogue, 
"of  your  dastardly  plot,  me  fine  fellow." 

"You?" 

"Ah,  meself  and  no  other." 

296 


MORE  INCOMPARABLE  THAN  EVER 

"But  this  is  mystery  upon  mystery,"  said  Mr.  Stafford, 
and  he  was  really  mystified. 

"A  little  bird  told  me,"  said  Kilcroney,  wagging  his 
head. 

Kitty  interrupted  laughing. 

"Aye,  and  by  the  way,  my  Lord,  ring  the  bell  and  send 
Pompey  for  that  very  little  bird.  She  must  not  go 
unrewarded." 

"She?"  repeated  Mr.  Stafford.  His  eyebrows  went  up. 
He  was  perhaps  not  altogether  amazed  to  see  Pamela 
Pounce  walk  into  the  room. 

"Come  here,  child,"  said  my  Lady  and  picked  from  her 
bodice  a  pretty,  sparkling  brooch.  "Wear  this  for  my 
sake  in  remembrance  of  to-night.  As  for  me,"  her  light 
voice  deepened,  "I  shall  never  forget  your  good  sense  and 
courage.  She  guessed  you  were  planning  some  mischief 
with  your  charming  sister-in-law,  Mr.  Stafford,  sir,  and 
having  to  tie  her  bandboxes  outside  the  door,  she  caught 
some  whispers  of  your  little  game." 

"Oho  1"  said  Mr.  Stafford. 

"I  listened,"  cried  Pamela,  with  flaming  cheeks,  "and  I 
went  straight  to  my  Lord  here  and  my  Lord " 

Here  my  Lord  himself  took  up  the  tale,  his  lazy  pleasant 
voice  creaming  forth  in  contrast  to  the  excited  tones  of 
the  young  milliner. 

"And,  faith,  bad  husband  as  I  am — troth,  sure  it's  the 
worst  in  the  world — there  was  but  one  thing  for  me  to  do 
and  that  was  to  protect  me  wife.  So  I  went  to  His  Royal 
Highness  and  did  a  little  bit  of  coaxing — not  that  he 
needed  much.  God  bless  him,  isn't  he  always  ready  to 
condescend  to  be  entertained?  And  I  got  him  to  promise, 
easy  enough,  to  come  in  to  supper  after  his  Royal  Parents 
had  gone  to  bed.  And  then  I  wrote  a  line  to  my  Lady  and 

297 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


asked  her  permission  to  bring  the  Prince;  and,  by  the 
same  token,  I  told  her  about  your  fine  scheme  of  counter- 
feit. Sure,  I  knew  my  Lady  could  be  trusted  to  deal 
with  that !" 

"Denis,"  said  Kitty.  "There  was  an  infamous  note  I 
sent  you  on  pink  paper.  Have  you  got  it  about  you?" 

He  gave  her  a  grim  look,  inserted  two  fingers  into  his 
waistcoat  pocket  and  drew  it  forth. 

"Give  it  back  to  me,  my  dear  love." 

"Why,  I  was  thinking  'twouldn't  be  a  bad  token  for  me 
to  keep  about  me,  lest  I  should  be  meeting  some  sorrowful 
young  creature  that  wanted  comforting  on  a  parade " 

"Oh,  my  Lord,  don't  mock  me!" 

She  twitched  it  from  his  hand  and  began  to  tear  it  into 
a  hundred  shreds.  Then,  between  laughing  and  crying, 
she  gathered  in  her  turn  a  little  note  from  her  bosom. 

"  'Tis  you  that  are  generous,  'tis  you  that  are  for- 
giving, my  Lord.  How  could  I  keep  up  petty  malice,  Mr. 
Stafford,  when  my  Denis  had  treated  me  so  gallant?  This 
letter,"  cried  Kitty,  kissing  it,  "shall  be  my  treasure  till 
I  die." 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN  WHICH  "THE  MAD  BEAT"  TAKES  THE  BIT  BETWEEN  HER 
TEETH,  BUT  MISS  PAMELA  POUNCE  KEEPS  HOLD  OF  THE 

BEINS 


first  stage  between  Weymouth  and  London 
A  brought  Miss  Pamela  Pounce  to  Blandford  where 
she  intended  to  pass  the  night.  She  had  spent  an  agree- 
able and  lucrative  week  at  Weymouth,  whither  the  pres- 
ence of  Royalty  had  brought  a  host  of  fashionables  and 
where  it  had  been  easy  for  her  to  dispose  of  all  the  modish 
hats  and  heads,  caps  and  toques  which  she  had  selected  to 
tempt  holiday  appetites. 

With  a  light  conscience  and  heavy  pockets,  therefore, 
Pamela  was  setting  off  for  London  in  finest  spirits.  She 
had  brought  more  than  her  usual  zest  to  this  journey,  she 
who  always  enjoyed  traveling  to  the  full;  the  movement, 
the  change  of  scene,  the  bustle  at  arrival  and  departure, 
the  choice  of  the  night's  lodging,  the  chance  adventure, 
the  shifting  company  all  stimulated,  interested,  delighted 
her.  She  could  take  care  of  herself  and  had  no  fear,  either 
of  the  rare  highwayman  or  of  the  intrusive  gallant. 

The  "Rover"  deposited  its  burden  with  a  fine  flourish  of 
horn  and  whip  and  clatter  of  hoofs,  tick  on  time,  in  the 
cobbled  courtyard  of  the  Crown  Inn  at  Blandford. 

Six  of  the  clock  had  just  been  huskily  beaten  out  behind 
the  great  white  dial  that  surmounted  the  celebrated  sta- 
bles. The  jolly  coachman  turned  half  round  in  his  seat 
and  winked  at  the  gentleman  in  the  many-caped  roquelaure 

299 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


who  had  entertained  him  with  such  racy  gossip  for  five 
hours  that  day,  and  who  had  not  failed,  moreover,  to  sea- 
son their  conversation  with  a  brimmer  at  every  halt- 
ing place. 

"What  do  you  think  o'  that  for  punctuality,  my  Lord  ?" 

Now  "my  Lord"  was  a  mere  fluke-shot  at  quality,  but 
for  once  it  had  hit  the  bull's-eye. 

The  traveler,  descending  with  care  from  the  coach  (for 
the  last  tankard  had  been  tightly  laced  and  required  some 
carrying)  was  nearly  run  into  by  a  brisk  young  lady  in  a 
gray  riding  coat  and  black  satin  hat,  who  exclaimed  gen- 
teelly :  "To  be  sure,  sir,  I  crave  your  pardon !"  And  then 
cried :  "My  Lord  Kilcroney,  is  it  indeed  you !" 

"Why,  'tis  never  Miss  Pounce !"  exclaimed  my  Lord,  sur- 
veying her,  as  if  the  last  thing  wanting  to  his  joviality  had 
now  been  granted  him  by  Fate.  And,  indeed,  not  only  was 
Pamela  Pounce  vastly  pleasing  to  look  upon — she  had 
something  of  the  firmness,  the  clear  red-and-white  and  the 
general  appetizing  appearance  of  a  white-heart  cherry — 
but  she  was  vastly  agreeable  company  too,  as  he  had 
found  out  on  more  than  one  occasion.  Added  to  which, 
she  had  recently  done  him  a  very  good  turn  with  his  lady, 
as  sometimes  comes  in  the  way  of  milliners  and  such  like 
who  collect  back-door  gossip  and  exercise  back-door  influ- 
ence. Withal,  which  certainly  spoiled  nothing,  she  was  a 
young  person  of  merit :  virtuous,  responsible  and  discreet. 
My  Lord  knew  that  she  would  take  at  their  proper  value 
any  little  compliment  or  other  expression  of  esteem,  such 
as  the  squeeze  of  a  trim  waist,  an  absent-minded  clasp  of 
taper  fingers,  even  a  snatched  kiss.  He  might  get  a  box  on 
the  ear ;  he  would  never  be  treated  either  to  outraged  sensi- 
bility, or — still  more  inconvenient  contingency — an  unde- 
sired  responsiveness. 

300 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


He  held  Miss  Pounce's  hand  and  smiled  down  into  her 
bright  face  with  something  approaching  enthusiasm. 

"Split  me,  my  dear,  but  this  is  a  piece  of  good  luck. 
And  I  who  thought  I'd  be  all  at  my  lonesome  over — "  he 
stopped  and  sniffed.  "What  is  it? — the  beefsteak  pud- 
ding and  the  roast  capons  to-night.  I  invite  you  to  sup- 
per with  me,  Pamela.  I  sent  my  rascal  ahead  to  bespeak 
the  little  oak  parlor  on  the  garden,  and " 

"Thanking  you  kindly,  my  Lord,"  said  Miss  Pounce, 
disengaging  her  hand  and  speaking  with  great  firmness,  "I 
dine  with  no  gentleman  in  the  back  parlor." 

His  merry  face  fell. 

"How  now  so  prudish?" 

"Nay,  my  Lord,  merely  prudent.  'Tis  as  much  as  my 
reputation  is  worth.  The  ladies  wouldn't  like  it.  No,  nor 
the  landladies.  The  common  room  is  best  for  a  common 
working  girl  like  me." 

"My  dear,"  said  Lord  Kilcroney,  "  'tis  an  uncommon 
girl  you  are.  You're  in  the  right  of  it  a  thousand  times. 
Faith,  my  Lady  would  be  ready  to  tear  the  wig  from  my 
head  if  she  heard  of  it !" 

"And  she'd  tear  my  hats  from  hers  and  that  would  be 
vastly  the  greater  calamity  of  the  two,  forgive  me  for  say- 
ing so,  my  Lord." 

"See  here,"  said  he,  "I'll  face  the  bagmen  for  the  pleas- 
ure of  your  conversation,  for,  odds  my  life,  you've  a 
sparkle  about  you  that's  as  good  as  champagne  after  the 
clreary  road!  I'll  tell  them  to  lay  your  place  beside  mine 
in  the  coffee  room,  and  you'll  season  my  supper  to  me  with 
that  spicy  tongue  of  yours." 

Pamela  said  she  was  a  poor  girl,  and  she  hoped  she  knew 
her  place, that  my  Lord  was  vastly  condescending,  and  that 
she'd  have  to  take  what  seat  was  given  her ;  which  remarks 

301 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


my  Lord,  rightly  understanding  to  be  an  oblique  accept- 
ance, greeted  with  laughter  and  applause  and  went  gayly 
towards  the  inn  after  her,  admiring  her  generous,  well-knit 
shape  and  taking  off  his  hat  with  a  mock  flourish  as  she 
modestly  stood  back  to  let  him  enter  first. 

The  summer  evening  was  warm,  and  the  odors  of  viands 
potent  in  the  coffee  room.  The  tables  were  crowded; 
there  was  an  immense  buzz  of  voices,  and  clatter  of  knives 
and  forks,  and  a  running  to  and  fro  of  aproned  drawers 
and  sturdy  bare-armed  wenches. 

Pamela  stood  at  the  door  and  looked  in  discontentedly. 
She  was  as  little  squeamish  as  any  healthy  young  woman 
of  her  class;  she  left  "vapors"  and  "qualms"  to  her  bet- 
ters. But  the  long  day  had  tired  her,  and  there  was  my 
Lord,  with  his  wig  askew  and  a  couple  of  bottles  before 
him,  and  an  air  of  having  already  done  some  justice  to 
them.  It  was  all  very  well  to  have  chosen  the  propriety  of 
the  public  room,  but  it  might  have  its  drawbacks.  A  poor 
girl  never  knew  what  spiteful  eyes  might  be  watching.  It 
would  do  her  no  good  if  some  loose  tongue  were  to  start  a 
bit  of  scandal  about  her:  "Miss  Pamela  Pounce  behaving 
shameful  with  my  Lord  Kilcroney,  as  brazen  as  you  like, 
before  everybody."  It  would  always  be,  of  course,  the 
poor  girl  who  behaved  shameful,  never  the  half-tipsy  noble- 
man. Such  is  the  way  of  the  world. 

"And  as  like  as  not,"  went  on  Pamela  to  herself — she 
had  a  vivid  and  swift  imagination,  "the  next  thing  will 
be:  'They  left  Weymouth  together.  'Twas  a  regular 
elopement.' — No,  thank  you,  Pamela,  my  girl.  It  ain't 
good  enough  for  us  to  sit  next  to  my  Lord  in  his  cups,  and 
eat  beefsteak  pudding — a  dish  I  never  was  partial  to — on 
a  hot  night — and  lose  my  character  to  boot." 

She  whisked  round  and  out  through  the  luggage-piled 

302 


hall  into  the  yard,  where,  by  the  gate  which  gave  upon  the 
river  meadow,  she  had  marked  a  bench  erected  around  an 
old  tree  stump. 

"I'll  sit  here,"  resolved  Miss  Pounce,  suiting  the  action 
to  the  thought.  "And,  by  and  by,  when  those  creatures 
have  done  gorging  within,  I'll  have  a  little  supper  by  my 
own.  Lord,  how  vastly  more  pleasant  it  is  out  here !" 

She  drew  a  long  breath,  inhaling  the  air,  sweet  with 
the  near  fragrance  of  honeysuckle,  and  distant  scents  of 
ripe  corn.  She  clasped  her  hands  on  her  knees — those 
busy,  clever  hands  which  so  seldom  rested — gazed  dream- 
ily out  upon  the  scene.  It  made  a  pleasant  picture; 
'the  red-tiled  roof  of  the  stables  was  beginning  to  glow  in 
the  warm  evening  light;  the  irregular  outline  of  the  old 
Inn,  already  in  shadow,  was  cut  darkly  against  the  limpid 
blue  of  the  sky;  white  and  gray  pigeons  flitted  lazily 
hither  and  thither.  From  within  the  open  stable  doors 
came  peaceful  sounds  of  munching  jaws,  rattling  chains, 
and  now  and  again  a  stamping  hoof.  A  fat  tortoise-shell 
cat  sat  licking  herself  on  a  window  sill.  There  was  not  a 
human  creature  in  sight  for  the  moment,  and  Miss  Pounce 
felt  quite  poetic. 

But  she  was  not  destined  to  be  indulged  long  in  her 
rare  mood  for  solitude.  There  came  a  clatter  of  hoofs,  a 
hum  of  wheels  along  the  dusty  road.  A  high  curricle 
swung  into  the  yard,  at  the  raking  trot  of  a  tall  chestnut, 
driven  by  a  reckless  hand.  It  was  drawn  up  with  a  splash 
of  protesting  hoofs;  and  Pamela,  suddenly  pricked  to 
interest,  beheld,  springing  unaided  from  the  high  perch, 
the  young  lady  whose  erratic  conduct  had  earned  for  her 
the  sobriquet  of  "the  Mad  Brat" — Lady  Selina,  who  had 
scandalized  society,  outraged  her  Royal  patrons,  alienated 
her  friends  and  positively  stupefied  her  family  a  bare  three 

303 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


months  ago  by  eloping  from  the  very  back  of  the 
Princess's  chair  at  the  Opera  with  a  penniless,  insignificant 
officer  of  Marines  of  the  name  of  Simpson.  Lady  Selina 
Simpson's  further  career,  though  necessarily  passed  in 
comparative  obscurity,  had  done  little  to  lessen  the  apt- 
ness of  the  sobriquet.  Much  the  contrary,  indeed,  and 
Lieutenant  Simpson  being  stationed  at  Weymouth,  Lady 
Selina  had  had  an  unexpected  opportunity  for  a  display  of 
eccentricity,  which  made  both  her  elder  sisters  agree  for 
once  that  something  must  be  done  to  put  a  stop  to  Selina's 
goings  on.  "Under  the  very  nose  of  the  Royals,  my  dear, 
she  does  it  on  purpose  to  discredit  us."  Even  if  "some- 
thing" entailed  the  purchase  for  Lieutenant  Simpson  of 
some  post  pleasantly  remote  in  the  Indies. 

Here,  then,  was  "the  Mad  Brat,"  as  naughty  and 
modish  as  you  please  (Miss  Pamela's  professional  eye  was 
quick  to  notice)  ;  wrapped  to  the  ears  in  a  military-looking 
cloak  of  elegant  blue,  and  hatted  with  as  smart  a  little 
beaver,  also  of  military  cock,  as  she,  Pamela  had  ever  seen 
— and  that  was  saying  a  great  deal. 

My  young  Lady  Selina's  curls  were  scarcely  powdered, 
and  shone  very  golden  under  the  evening  light,  set  in  flying 
bunches,  each  side  of  her  narrow,  pretty,  pale,  impertinent 
face.  There  was  something  in  the  expression  of  her  coun- 
tenance, attractive  for  all  its  willfulness,  that  made 
Pamela's  quick  wits  jump  to  a  horrid  conclusion — before 
even  she  had  clapped  eyes  on  the  driver  of  the  curricle. 

"Lord !  if  ever  I  see  the  look  of  one  bent  on  a  desperate 
course,  I  see  it  this  minute !"  thought  the  milliner,  turning 
the  glance  on  Lady  Selina's  companion. 

And  there  it  was  for  you !  That  black-a-vised  gentle- 
man, with  the  bushy  black  eyebrows  and  the  small  restless 
black  eyes  beneath,  with  the  blue  chin  and  full,  insolent 

304- 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


mouth — that  was  never  young  Simpson !  "Some  elderly 
rip,  out  of  the  poor  lad's  regiment !"  diagnosed  Pamela 
rapidly,  seeing  the  gold-lace  glint.  "And  that  is  why  my 
young  Madam  is  so  monstrous  military  herself.  If  ever  I 
see  an  elopement ! " 

And,  indeed,  the  two  had  a  flushed  and  conscious  air, 
defiant,  suspicious. 

"However  you  may  try  to  brazen  it  out,  your  heart's  as 
heavy  as  lead,  you  poor  silly  thing,"  was  the  next  conclu- 
sion of  the  watcher.  "As  for  you,  you  wicked  wretch,  you 
are  all  ardors  and  whispers,  all  swollen  with  triumph,  yet 
you  aren't  a  bit  sure  of  her.  There,  now,  I  knew  it — she 
won't  let  you  lead  her  in,  with  your  arm  about  her  waist ; 
not  even  let  you  take  her  hand.  She's  no  notion  to  have 
you  blazon  her  your  conquest,  for  all  the  Inn  company  to 
see. — Mercy  on  us,  there's  a  toss  of  the  head ! — Aye,  and 
here's  a  look  for  you,  my  fine  gentleman !  No — I  wouldn't 
make  too  sure  of  her  yet,  if  I  were  you !" 

The  sound  of  hoofs  and  wheels  and  of  the  clanging  bell 
had  brought  landlord  and  landlady  to  the  doorway. 
Pamela  emerged  slowly  from  her  leafy  retreat.  She  had  a 
mind  to  keep  "the  Mad  Brat"  under  observation  as  long 
as  she  could. 

'Twas  a  mere  child !  Pamela  knew  that  she  could  scarce 
have  reached  her  twentieth  year;  and  Pamela  had  once 
herself  been  mighty  near  flinging  away  everything  a 
woman  should  hold  dear,  for  a  man's  smile.  She  had  been 
saved,  on  the  very  edge  of  the  precipice,  by  a  sort  of 
miracle.  And  she  often  had  shuddered,  contemplating 
the  horrible  depth  of  the  chasm  into  which  she  had  all  but 
fallen.  Did  she  not  now  read  on  the  young  wife's  face 
something  of  the  frantic  recklessness  that  had  once 
moved  her? 

305 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Besides  which  she  had  a  pride  in  her  sex  which  made  it 
personally  grievous  to  her  when  a  woman  went  wrong. 
And  lastly,  she  flattered  herself  she  was  a  judge  of  char- 
acter, and  yonder  military  buck  was  a  bad,  dissipated, 
selfish  wretch,  with  no  use  for  a  woman  but  to  break 
her  heart. 

As  she  entered  the  hall,  discreetly,  in  the  wake  of  the 
newcomers,  she  found  Lady  Selina  in  high  wrangle  with 
her  swain. 

"And  I  say,  I  will  have  a  post-chaise,  Colonel  Endacott ! 
And  I  protest  your  making  a  vast  mistake!  Pray,  Mr. 
Landlord,  a  bowl  of  broth  and  a  glass  of  wine  in  a  private 
parlor — and  a  post-chaise,  with  a  decent  pair  of  horses, 
in  an  hour.  The  gentleman  will  go  to  the  coffee  room. 
Yes,  sir — you  will  go  to  the  coffee  room. — Do  I  hear  you 
curse,  sir?  La!  here  is  a  charming  thing,  indeed!" 

Suddenly  her  eye  became  fixed,  she  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion in  a  high  tone  of  surprise  and  excitement. 

"Sir  Jasper  Standish — as  I  am  a  living  woman !" 

Pamela  then  perceived,  standing  in  the  doorway  of  the 
coffee  room,  chewing  a  gold  toothpick,  no  less  a  personage 
than  the  dashing  widower.  He  was  surveying  his  whilom 
betrothed  and  her  illicit  cavalier  with  a  bantering,  swag- 
gering, insolent  air  in  which  there  was  more  than  a  glint 
of  jealous  anger. 

As  Lady  Selina  hailed  him,  he  tripped  forward.  "Good 
heavens,"  reflected  the  milliner,  "I'd  slap  any  man's  face, 
gentleman  or  no,  who  dared  to  look  at  me  like  that !" 

Colonel  Endacott,  biting  his  full  under  lip,  and  blackly 
scowling,  seemed  very  much  of  this  opinion ;  but  "the  Mad 
Brat"  extended  both  hands : 

"Sir  Jasper! — well  met!  'Tis  a  vast  of  pleasure  for 
me  to  greet  an  old  friend.  Why,  here  am  I,  on  my  road 

306 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


to  London — pray,  Colonel  Endacott,  do  you  know  Sir  Jas- 
per Standish?  Gentlemen,  let  me  introduce  you:  Colonel 
Endacott — Sir  Jasper  Standish. — Hearing  that  I  was 
about  to  post  to  London,  Colonel  Endacott  kindly  offered 
me  a  seat  in  his  curricle.  My  husband's  Colonel,  Sir  Jas- 
per. The  wife  of  a  poor  Lieutenant,  it  was  no  offer  to  de- 
cline! Colonel  Endacott,  who  is  really  all  condescension 
and  good  nature,  Sir  Jasper,  had  further  been  so  obliging 
as  to  offer  me  his  escort  for  the  whole  way.  But  the  mis- 
chief is  in  it,  we  must  part  at  the  first  stage!  Colonel 
Endacott  will  have  it  he  must  lie  at  Blandford  and  I  am 
equally  determined  to  push  on !" 

Colonel  Endacott  ground  his  high-booted  foot  on  the 
flags  of  the  hall,  as  though  he  would  pulverize  the  volatile 
lady  who  was  so  obviously  making  a  mock  of  him. 

"Why,  my  dear  Lady  Selina,"  cried  Sir  Jasper,  in  a 
rich  voice  of  victory,  "let  me  then  be  your  escort!  Fie, 
fie,  you  cannot  think  of  traveling  alone  with  a  mere  post- 
boy for  protection,  and  the  roads  so  unsafe.  I  could  not 
think  of  allowing  it !  So  old  a  friend  as  I  am  may  surely 
be  permitted  the  privilege,  the  honor,  the  duty " 

"Pray,  sir,"  interrupted  Colonel  Endacott,  his  tones 
were  husky  with  rage,  "you  misunderstand,  I  think.  Lady 
Selina  Simpson  is  under  my  protection.  It  was  entirely 

for  her  sake "  Here  he  cast  a  glance  of  mingled  ardor 

and  fury  upon  "the  Mad  Brat"  who  tossed  her  head  till 
her  ringlets  danced,  and  hunched  a  shoulder  on  him  in  its 
military  cloak,  with  a  taunting  glance.  "  'Twas  but  for 
her  sake,"  the  harsh  accents  grew  raucous,  "that  I  sug- 
gested the  night's  rest  here.  Lady  Selina  knows  that  she 
had  but  to  speak  the  word,  and  I  am  ready " 

"Ah,  not  at  all ! — pas  du  tout!"  cried  Lady  Selina,  who 
had  a  French  mother  and  certain  inherited  French  ways 

307 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


that  added  not  a  little  to  her  provoking  charm,  "Monsieur 
le  Colonel  has  made  such  big  eyes  at  me  I  am  positively 
frightened  of  him !  And  my  dear  Mamma — do  you  know, 
Sir  Jasper,  my  dear  widowed  mother  is  at  Wimbledon,  and 
I  have  half  a  mind  to  go  see  her  there — Mamma  would  be 
desolated  if  I  were  to  travel  under  the  escort  of  a  gentle- 
man who  is  not  my  husband.  Since  my  Frederick  is  so 
tied  up  in  his  military  duty — yes,  you  cruel  man,  you  saw 
to  that ! — But  with  Sir  Jasper,  Mamma  knows  Sir  Jasper 
so  well !  Pray  Mistress  Landlady,  bring  me  to  a  chamber 
where  I  can  wash  the  dust  off  my  face.  'Tis  vile  traveling 
in  an  open  curricle.  And  you,  Mr.  Landlord,  what  of  that 
parlor  and  that  broth? — How  would  it  be,  Sir  Jasper,  if 
you  were  to  join  me  over  this  slight  refection?  We  could 
discuss  the  journey." 

Sir  Jasper  drew  a  long  breath  through  dilated  nostrils, 
and  bowed,  the  corners  of  his  lips  tilting  upwards  in  a 
smile  of  immense  complacency.  The  landlady,  who  had 
been  staring  at  the  young  Madam  with  amazement  and 
disapproval,  majestically  led  the  way  up  the  narrow 
stairs,  expressing  by  a  tremulous  shake  of  her  lace-capped 
head,  and  an  occasional  loud  sniff,  that  such  manners  and 
customs  were  not  to  be  encouraged  on  her  premises. 

Pamela  Pounce  saw  the  look  which  Colonel  Endacott 
cast  at  the  fatuously  smirking  Sir  Jasper. 

"There  will  be  swords  drawn  over  this,  before  my  Lady 
Selina  has  had  time  to  dry  that  dusty  face  of  hers !"  she 
thought.  "And  dear  to  goodness,  I  have  it  in  my  heart 
to  hope  it  may  be  Sir  Jasper,  for  if  not,  it  is  out  of  the 
frying  pan  into  the  fire  with  her,  imp  of  mischief  as  she 
is!" 

Out  of  the  frying  pan  into  the  fire  it  was. — Colonel 
Endacott  and  Sir  Jasper  strolled,  to  all  appearance  very 

308 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


amicably  together  through  the  meadow  gate,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  a  certain  hazel  copse  by  the  riverside.  In  a  very 
short  time,  Sir  Jasper  reappeared,  alone;  and,  strolling 
back  into  the  stable-yard  of  the  Crown,  directed,  with  the 
most  genteel  coolness,  that  a  couple  of  ostlers  should  take 
a  wheelbarrow  and  a  chair,  or  maybe  a  hurdle,  and  carry 
in  his  friend,  who  had  had  an  accident  to  his  leg,  and  would 
be  found,  incapacitated,  just  beside  yonder  little  copse. 
It  was  not  a  matter  of  the  least  consequence,  he  assured 
them — a  mere  sprain,  a  scratch,  or  something  of  the  sort. 

The  ostlers  grinned.  He  cast  a  gold  piece  among  them 
and  passed  on,  treading  jauntily,  in  quest  of  the  parlor. 

Miss  Pounce,  eating  bread  and  butter  and  cold  meats, 
to  a  modest  bowl  of  milk  in  the  window  seat  of  the  now 
nearly  deserted  coffee  room,  saw  the  gallant  gentleman's 
return,  and  understood. 

"  'Tis  the  devil  and  all,"  she  thought,  "that  my  Lord 
Kilcroney  is  so  free  with  his  bottle;  he  might  be  of  use 
here.  If  my  Lady  Selina  thinks  she  can  fling  off  Sir  Jas- 
per as  easy  as  she  has  her  Colonel,  she  is  mighty  mistaken. 
Such  a  chance  doesn't  come  a  woman's  way  twice!  Silly 
child,  and  him  with  an  old  score  to  pay  off — and  their 
starting  off  by  night  and  all ! — why,  what  ails  the  creature, 
to  be  up  to  such  cantrips?"  thought  Pamela. 

She  bit  into  her  bread  and  butter,  and  then  flung  the 
slice  away  from  her.  "Well,  drunk  or  sober,  my  Lord  will 
be  better  than  nobody." 

Upon  this  decision,  Pamela  shook  the  crumbs  from  her 
skirt,  set  a  hand  on  each  hip,  and  holding  her  white  chin 
very  high  in  the  air,  made  a  bee  line  for  the  snuggery 
whence  loud  sounds  of  mirth  proclaimed  the  presence  of 
convivial  company. 

Here  she  found  my  Lord,  with  a  long  clay  pipe  in  one 

309 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


hand,  and  cool  tankard  in  the  other,  hilariously  setting  the 
tune  to  a  roaring  chorus  consisting  of  a  lumpish  young 
squire,  an  elderly  naval  officer,  a  land  surveyor  and  the 
local  doctor.  My  Lord  was  more  than  exhilarated,  as 
Pamela  saw  at  the  first  glance.  He  went  on  melodiously 
chanting  and  beating  time,  while  the  others  staring  at  the 
handsome  girl,  fell  dumb,  and  young  Squire  Pitt,  all  one 
purple  blush  began  bashfully  to  draw  himself  out  of 
his  chair. 

"My  Lord — my  Lord  Kilcroney !"  began  Pamela  with 
an  unwonted  sense  of  discomfiture,  "I  crave  a  word  apart 
with  your  Lordship." 

But  before  she  could  make  her  voice  heard,  she  was  un- 
ceremoniously trust  aside  by  Mr.  Landlord  himself. 

"And,  craving  your  pardon,"  he  eluded,  "this  is  no  place 
for  young  gals. — Dr.  Dawson,  sir,  you're  wanted." 

A  dark  man  in  a  scratch  wig,  with  a  long,  bony  face  and 
a  restless  protruding  jaw,  jumped  up  from  his  corner, 
and  came  forward. 

"What's  happened?"  quoth  he,  feeling  about  his  pock- 
ets with  big  knuckly  hands  that  made  Pamela  shudder. 

"Why,  will  you  step  outside,  sir.  Gentlemen  hurt 
through  the  leg." 

"Odds  my  bones,  I've  left  it  at  home!  You'll  have  to 
send  little  Jimmy  for  my  instrument-case.  What's  hap- 
pened, I  say  ?" 

The  landlord  wagged  his  head  slyly,  pinching  his  lips 
together,  and  made  a  thrusting  gesture  with  his  right  fore- 
finger; then  he  tapped  the  same  finger  on  the  side  of  his 
rubicund  nose. 

The  doctor  gave  a  short  laugh;  and  with  a  not  alto- 
gether steady  step,  suffered  himself  to  be  led  down  the 
passage. 

310 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


Lord  Kilcroney  imitated  the  double  gesture  with  his 
pipe-stem  and  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Now,  glory  be  to  God !"  said  he,  "if  I  had  known  there 
was  such  a  diversion  on  hand "  Here  he  seemed  sud- 
denly to  become  aware  that  Miss  Pounce's  presence  in  the 
snuggery  portended  something  distinctly  unusual.  As 
he  stared  at  her  with  a  flicker  of  returning  acuteness  in 
his  amiable  eye,  she  seized  the  opportunity. 

"For  God's  sake,  my  Lord,  give  me  a  moment  apart !" 

He  lurched  towards  her,  and  she  seized  him  by  the  lapel 
of  his  coat ;  again  he  looked  at  her ;  caught  perhaps  some- 
thing of  the  urgency  of  her  spirit,  and  said,  in  altered 
tones : 

"Wait  a  minute,  me  girl,  I'll  just  drain  the  tankard  to 
steady  my  head ;  and  I  am  with  you." 

She  got  him  as  far  as  the  window  seat  in  the  coffee 
room ;  and  then,  casting  a  glance  without,  exclaimed : 

"See  for  yourself.  Turn  your  eye  yonder,  and  see  for 
yourself." 

Lord  Kilcroney  flung  a  bewildered  gaze  in  the  direction 
of  her  pointing  finger;  opened  his  mouth,  closed  it  again 
and  wiped  his  forehead. 

"Jasper !  Jasper  Standish  and  a  lady,  as  I  live !  What 
the  dev " 

"Don't  you  know  the  lady,  my  Lord?  See  now,  see  now, 
with  the  lamplight  on  her  face.  She  is  getting  into  the 
chaise.  Don't  you  recognize  Lady  Selina  Simpson?" 

"Se — Selina  Simpson  I"  echoed  he  with  a  fine  tipsy  sibi- 
lance.  He  let  himself  fall  on  the  window  seat,  and  gripped 
his  head  in  both  hands.  "Se — Selina?'* 

"  'The  Mad  Brat,'  my  Lord !  Good  God,  we  are  too 
late,  the  chaise  is  driving  away ! — This  will  be  fine  hearing 

311 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


for  my  Lady  Verney,  and  for  your  Lady's  own  dear  friend, 
Lady  Anne!" 

Lord  Kilcroney  dropped  his  hands  and  sat,  with  pro- 
truding eyeballs,  staring  at  Pamela.  Then,  his  waistcoat 
was  shaken  with  a  rumbling  laugh ;  and  he  made  an  uncer- 
tain poke  with  his  forefinger. 

"And,  is  it  poor  Simpson,  then,  that's  in  the  claws  of 
that  old  red  raven  of  a  doctor  this  minute?  And  my  Lady 
off  with  Jasper?  D'ye  know,  it's  a  mons'ous  joke!  Oh, 
Gad — Jasper  was  her  first  love !" 

Pamela  flung  a  single,  searching  look  upon  him.  He  was 
muttering  to  himself,  and  laughing,  winking  and  shaking 
his  head,  the  picture  of  affable  inebriety. 

"My  Lord,  my  Lord,  you  must  pull  yourself  together ! 
Lady  Selina  is  not  twenty  yet.  And  him  such  a  bold  bad 
man,  as,  indeed,  you  know,  my  Lord.  'Tis  ruin,  'tis  dis- 
grace, for  her,  and  that  poor  innocent  lad,  her  husband! 

"By  the  powers !"  Kilcroney  staggered  to  his  feet. 
"Jasper's  a  scoundrel!  I'll  not  have  it! — What,  Nan 
Day's  little  sister,  mere  child — monstrous !  Get  me  a 
wet  napkin,  girl." 

He  plucked  his  wig  from  his  head  as  she  spoke,  and 
looked,  Pamela  thought,  singularly  boyish  with  his  close- 
cropped  red  poll  exposed  to  view.  Even  as  she  hurried  out 
to  summon  the  drawer,  a  brilliant  idea  struck  her. 

Colonel  Endacott's  curricle,  and  a  fresh  horse!  With 
anything  of  a  roadster,  so  light  a  vehicle  should  easily 
overtake  the  post-chaise !  'Twas  a  plan  of  retributive  jus- 
tice which  pleased  Miss  Pounce  hugely. 

What  woman  wills,  God  wills,  is  an  adage  invented  by 
some  sycophantic  admirer  of  the  fair  sex.  Nevertheless, 
there  is  no  doubt  that  the  world  is  apt  to  give  way  before 
any  one  with  determined  purpose,  and,  if  this  any  one 

312 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


happens  to  be  young,  handsome  and  a  woman,  the  odds  are 
overwhelmingly  in  her  favor.  Pamela  ordered,  cajoled, 
reasoned,  implored,  bustled,  taunted  and  threatened.  She 
made  lavish  yet  judicious  use  of  her  Weymouth  earnings; 
and  before  the  half-hour  was  out,  found  herself,  high- 
perched  by  the  side  of  my  Lord  (a  strange  figure,  with  the 
wet  napkin  still  tied  round  his  head),  driving — as  the 
group  of  ostlers  who  watched  him  depart  unanimously 
declared  with  much  admiration — like  hell. 

It  was  one  of  those  summer  nights  when  scarce  a  leaf 
stirs ;  there  was  not  a  cloud  upon  the  sky  which  stretched 
a  wonderful  amethyst  blue,  deepening  to  sapphire  at  the 
zenith,  and  paling  into  translucent  primrose  to  the  west 
where  the  last  traces  of  the  afterglow  still  lingered.  There 
would  be  a  fine  moon  presently,  had  been  the  landlord's 
parting  words,  as  he  respectfully  deposited  his  Lordship's 
wig,  hat  and  pistol  case  in  the  curricle.  The  streets  of  the 
sleepy  little  town  were  clatteringly  left  behind,  the  steep 
hill  surmounted,  and  then  the  Salisbury  Road  lay  before 
them  straight  and  white  across  the  gray  mystery  of 
the  downs. 

Pamela  thought  it  was  the  strangest  night  vision  she 
had  ever  beheld.  The  earth  seemed  as  featureless  as  the 
sky,  the  winds  which  had  slept  in  the  valley  were  lively 
enough  here,  as  if  the  earth  were  their  playground.  There 
was  a  wonderful  harvest  smell,  warm  and  wholesome,  of 
ripening  apples  and  a  full  cornfield,  in  the  air — a  great, 
mellow,  sweet  aroma  from  the  fertile  fields  and  farms  that 
lay  below  the  downlands. 

Pamela  was  not  romantic,  yet  she  could  not  but  feel  that 
it  was  "as  good  as  play-acting"  to  be  hurled  through  the 
summer  night  across  this  vast  peaceful  loneliness,  by  this 

313 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


same  mad,  kind,  fantastic  Irish  lord  whose  odd  adventures 
were  always  the  talk  of  the  town. 

"A  stern  chase  is  a  long  chase,"  observed  the  nobleman, 
dexterously  tipping  the  flanks  of  the  big  bay. 

The  horse  bounded,  and  the  curricle  rocked;  and 
Pamela  choked  a  scream.  Over  the  crest  of  the  down  a 
huge  red  moon  began  to  show  her  face,  swimming  in  a 
curious  misty  incandescence.  Pamela  sucked  in  her  breath 
and  her  heart  stirred  sentimentally.  If  only  the  man  of 
her  choice  had  been  sitting  beside  her,  how  vastly  she 
would  have  enjoyed  herself! 

They  swung  through  the  shadows  of  a  copse  and  out 
into  the  open  again.  My  Lord  cast  his  napkin  into  the 
road ;  he  begged  Pamela  to  lend  him  a  hand  with  his  wig. 
The  black  horse  had  fallen  to  a  foot  pace  up  the  steep 
incline,  and  my  Lord,  with  returning  sobriety,  began  ap- 
parently to  consider  the  kind  of  undertaking  into  which  he 
had  plunged,  and  how  to  carry  it  through. 

"We'll  not,"  said  he,  gliding  into  speed  again  with  the 
care  of  the  practiced  whip,  "overhaul  them  much  before 
Salisbury."  Then  the  moonlight  caught  his  face,  showed 
his  quizzical  smile,  and  the  rueful  questioning  of  his  eyes, 
as  he  went  on:  "And  what  the  dickens  am  I  to  say  when 
we  do?  Split  me,  Miss  Pounce,  you've  rushed  me  into  a 
pretty  kettle  of  fish!  Be  jabers,  what  in  the  world  is  it 
to  me  all  said  and  done,  that  Jasper  should  be  off  with  that 
little  lady?" 

"Oh,  fie,  my  Lord "  began  Pamela  warmly.    But  he 

interrupted  her : 

"Well,  well,  never  fear,  'tis  as  good  an  excuse  as  another 
for  a  bit  of  fun.  Faith,  didn't  my  Lady  tell  me  the  other 
day,  it  was  the  regular  old  gentleman  I  was  grow- 
ing into !" 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


He  caught  her  absently  by  the  waist,  as  he  spoke,  laugh- 
ing as  the  vehicle  swerved ;  and  Pamela  found  herself  again 
wishing  for  the  company  of  the  dark-browed  slim  young 
gentleman  to  whom  she  had  given  her  heart  and  who — Mr. 
Jocelyn  had  such  sensibility — would  have  understood  the 
really  grave  nature  of  this  seemingly  mad  quest. 

It  was  after  two  hours'  steady  chase,  even  as  the  road 
•dipped  from  the  downs  into  the  valley,  back  again  into  the 
cornfields — these  had  a  marvelous  silver  and  amber  glow 
in  the  moonlight — that  they  saw,  half  a  furlong  away, 
the  black  bulk  of  a  moving  vehicle,  and  heard  the  double 
clatter  of  leisurely  trotting  horses. 

"  'Tis  but  another  farm  wagon,"  quoth  my  Lord. 

"Nay,"  cried  Pamela,  "for  I  see  the  bobbing  of  the 
postboy,  plain  as  plain." 

"Do  you,  indeed,  my  dear?"  cried  my  Lord  in  exhila- 
rated accents,  handling  the  reins  with  a  zest  that  sent  the 
horse  forward  with  a  great  impetus.  "You  haven't  dath- 
ered  your  sight  with  the  Crown's  noted  treble  ale.  Well, 
if  this  isn't  the  fun  of  the  world!  I've  stopped  a  coach 
before,  my  dear — that  in  your  ear — but  split  me,  never 
from  a  curricle,  with  a  monstrous  fine  girl  beside  me!" 

"I'm  a  farmer's  daughter,"  she  said,  resolutely,  "and 
can  manage  a  horse  with  any  one.  So  I  can  take  the  reins, 
my  Lord,  when  you  want  your  hands  free." 

"  'Pon  me  sowl !"  ejaculated  Kilcroney  admiringly.  But 
he  proceeded  no  further,  for  the  black  horse,  gathering 
speed,  and  excited  by  the  clatter  of  rival  hoofs,  made  a 
dash  forward,  and  my  Lord  with  voice  and  cracking  lash, 
encouraged  the  canter  to  a  gallop. 

The  postboy  started  from  his  jogging  trance,  looked 
over  his  shoulder  and  hastily  pulled  to  one  side.  The  cur- 

315 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


ricle  went  by  at  a  flash;  my  Lord  never  slackened  speed 
till  they  had  reached  the  bottom  of  the  hill  and  a  bit 
beyond. 

"Now,"  said  Kilcroney,  as  he  maneuvered  the  curricle 
right  across  the  road,  "now  for  the  fun  of  the  fair !  Just 
put  your  lovely  hand  under  the  seat  and  see  if  you  can  lay 
ahould  of  me  pistols." 

(My  Lord's  brogue  became  agreeably  marked  in  mo- 
ments of  emotion.) 

The  black  horse  was  dancing  from  hoof  to  hoof;  the 
curricle  swayed  rhythmically  to  his  capers,  and  Pamela 
felt,  when  her  companion  plucked  the  pistols  from  the  case 
she  held  open,  as  if  every  fiber  of  her  being  were  dancing  in 
unison ;  exhilaration,  a  sense  of  splendid  adventure,  a  spice 
of  fear,  and  a  delightful  recklessness  had  hold  of  her.  She 
almost  understood  now  how  "the  Mad  Brat"  could  fling 
everything  to  the  winds  for  the  mere  taste  of  such  a  mo- 
ment. Lord  Kilcroney  thrust  the  reins  into  her  hands, 
leaped  lightly  from  his  perch ;  and  he,  too,  seemed  to  dance 
in  the  moonlight  as  he  advanced  towards  the  chaise* 

The  postboy  had  prudently  pulled  up  at  sight  of  the 
obstacle  in  the  road ;  now,  as  the  pistol  barrels  glinted  in 
the  moonlight,  he  raised  a  dismal  shout,  and  dived  side- 
ways off  the  fat  gray  haunches  of  his  mount.  The  landlord 
of  the  Crown  had  provided  a  stalwart  plodding  pair  for 
Lady  Selina's  post-chaise ;  and  these  were  content  enough 
to  draw  breath,  craning  their  necks,  snorting  comfortably 
down  their  nostrils,  and  shuddering  in  turn  till  the  har- 
ness rattled. 

"How  now !"  cried  an  angry  voice  from  the  chaise,  and 
Sir  Jasper's  head  emerged  into  the  moonlight.  "What's 
the  matter,  rascal,  scamp — Hallo,  stap  me !"  this  in  quite 

316 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


another  tone.  "Why,  the  devil — 'tis  a  highwayman,  a 
footpad !" 

Kilcroney,  who  had  planted  himself,  with  face  con- 
cealed by  his  extended  arm,  chanted  in  the  most  musical 
tones  he  could  muster: 

"Stand  and  deliver !"  Then,  breaking  into  laughter,  he 
disclosed  his  countenance,  with  a  fine  flourish  of  his  man- 
tons;  "Stand  and  deliver,"  he  repeated.  "Jasper,  stand 
and  deliver  your  stolen  goods !" 

There  was  a  faint  cry  within  the  chaise,  altogether  lost 
in  the  round  volley  of  oaths  from  Sir  Jasper.  He  con- 
signed Kilcroney's  soul  to  perdition  and  his  body  to  cor- 
ruption, with  explicitness  and  repetition,  and  commanded 
the  postboy  to  remount  and  carry  on,  if  he  did  not  wish 
to  be  flayed  alive.  But  the  sagacious  youth  was  appar- 
ently swallowed  in  the  darkness. 

Presently  Kilcroney's  shouts  of  laughter  were  echoed  in 
silver  titters  both  from  the  chaise  and  the  curricle.  These 
sounds  goaded  the  baronet  to  madness.  "Poor  Jasper!" 
(Kilcroney  afterwards  related.)  "He  was  foaming  like  a 
tankard  of  porter,  and  was  almost  as  black  in  the  face,  by 
Jingo,  when  he  lepped  from  the  chaise  and  at  me.  Troth, 
he  had  his  sword  out,  and  sure  the  next  moment  he  would 
have  let  the  moonlight  through  me,  hadn't  my  little  lady  in 
the  chaise  caught  him  by  the  skirts  of  his  coat !  It  was  the 
grand  slap  he  came  on  the  flint  of  the  road — aye  and  the 
grand  escape  I  had  of  it  entirely !  'Up  with  you,  me  boy, 
and  we'll  have  it  out  like  gentlemen,'  cries  I,  and  by  the 
time  he  got  up  again  I  was  ready  for  him,  as  pretty  as 
Angelo,  with  the  barkers  back  in  my  pocket  and  my  little 
bodkin  taking  the  air  in  my  hand." 

It  was  not  the  first  time  that  my  Lord  Kilcroney  and 
Sir  Jasper  had  crossed  blades.  Indeed,  Kilcroney's  mer- 

317 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


curial  temperament  and  Sir  Jasper's  inflammably  jealous 
one  had  come  into  collision  more  than  once.  In  the  last 
encounter  the  Irishman  had  had  the  worst  of  it,  but  to- 
night, whatever  disability  the  day's  potations  might  have 
caused  him  was  more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  blind 
rage  which  possessed  the  baronet  as  he  fell  to  his  guard. 
Perhaps  Sir  Jasper  had  been  already  in  none  too  good 
a  temper  when  the  novel  highwayman  had  arrested  him  in 
the  full  course  of  elopement;  certainly  the  countenance 
with  which  his  Helen  watched  the  encounter  from  the 
chaise  window,  displayed  more  entertainment  than  anxiety. 
In  fact  when  Sir  Jasper,  receiving  a  neat  thrust  through 
his  sword  arm,  fell  back  with  a  curse  and  a  groan,  it  was 
Pamela  who  cried  out  in  alarm,  while  Lady  Selina  shrilly 
laughed  and  clapped  her  hands. 

An  odd  little  procession  towards  midnight,  roused  the 
slumbers  of  the  Mitre  Inn  at  Salisbury,  with  peremptory 
summons:  Two  ladies  in  a  post-chaise,  escorted  by  two 
gentlemen  in  a  curricle.  The  ladies  seemed  to  be  in  high 
dudgeon  with  each  other.  The  gentlemen  very  friendly. 
Indeed,  the  younger  and  better-looking  of  the  two  ( though 
both  were  personable  men)  was  distinctly  assiduous  in  his 
attention  to  the  other  who  had  (as  the  landlord  was  duly 
informed)  met  with  a  nasty  accident  through  the  over- 
turning of  the  curricle  at  a  sharp  corner,  which  robbed 
him  of  the  use  of  his  right  arm. 

The  postboy  had  a  curious  tale  to  tell  over  a  restoring 
mug  of  ale.  But  so  scared  and  bewildered  did  he  appear ; 
so  monstrous  a  jumble  did  he  make  of  highwaymen  and 
duels,  that  the  landlord,  who  was  a  sensible  man,  diagnosed 
pure  coward's  flimflams  and  promptly  dismissed  him  to 
his  straw. 

318 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


Pamela  slept  late.  She  had  been  allotted  the  dressing- 
room  of  the  superior  bedchamber  which  she  had  herself 
claimed  for  Lady  Selina.  Her  last  thought,  as  she  snug- 
gled down  in  the  feather  bed,  had  been :  "I've  got  her  safe, 
the  little  fool  1"  and  the  first  that  bore  into  her  conscious- 
ness in  the  morning  was  the  same  comforting  reflection: 
"I've  got  her  safe." 

Angry  words  had  passed  between  the  two  women  in  the 
chaise  last  night.  Though  Pamela  had  been  unable  to 
make  head  or  tail  of  the  arguments  produced  by  "the  Mad 
Brat"  to  justify  her  conduct,  every  word  had  revealed  a 
childish  inconsequence. 

"One  would  say,"  thought  the  milliner,  as  she  lay,  re- 
flecting on  her  impressions,  "that  the  silly  chit  had  laid 
some  wager,  or  was  pretending  to  be  wicked  for  the  mere 
show  off  of  the  thing.  For,  if  ever  I  saw  a  gentleman  set 
down  it  was  Sir  Jasper  last  night !  In  my  opinion  he  was 
mortal  glad  to  be  out  of  it  at  the  price.  Never  saw  him  so 
loving  with  my  Lord !  And,  as  for  her,  she  looked  at  him 
like  a  wildcat,  as  she  passed  him  by,  on  the  way  to 
her  room !" 

Pamela  sat  on  the  edge  of  her  bed,  yawned  and  gazed  at 
the  door  which  separated  her  from  Lady  Selina's  apart- 
ment, congratulating  herself  that,  so  old-fashioned  was 
the  hostelry,  there  was  no  other  issue.  But,  as  she  looked, 
the  smile  faded  from  her  face.  The  door  was  not  quite 
closed!  She  remembered  very  well,  how  my  Lady  Selina 
had  banged  and  bolted  it  last  night;  intimating  thereby, 
better  than  by  any  speech,  what  she  thought  of  the  intru- 
sive proximity  of  the  milliner. 

"It's   not  possible "      On   the   spur   of   suspicion, 

Pamela  was  out  of  bed  and  into  the  next  room  at  a  spring. 
Sunshine  was  pouring  in  between  the  open  shutters ;  the 

319 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


great  four-post  bed  was  empty.  There  was  no  trace  of 
the  fair  delinquent,  save  a  long  gauntleted  glove  on 
the  floor. 

"Well,  of  all — of  all  the  minxes!"  Miss  Pounce 
pivoted  on  herself.  "Pamela,  my  girl,  you're  fooled ! 
And  you  such  a  light  sleeper,  to  think  you  should  have 
slept  so  deep  and  let  the  bird  fly !" 

She  ran  back  to  her  room  and  after  ringing  the  bell 
violently  proceeded  like  a  hurricane  to  her  toilet.  Cold 
water  and  yellow  soap  were  good  enough  for  her  any  day. 
The  service  at  the  Mitre  seemed  scarce  like  to  add  to  its 
reputation.  Miss  Pounce  was  well  advanced,  indeed,  she 
had  reached  the  stage  of  buttoning  her  trim  figure  into  the 
gray  riding  coat,  before  her  repeated  attacks  on  the  bell- 
pull  produced  a  panting  housemaid. 

"Oh,  please,  Miss,"  began  this  damsel  volubly,  "was  you 
ringing?  I  was  kept  by  the  gentlemen  in  Blue  Parrot, 
helping  the  gentleman  to  bind  the  other  gentleman's  arm, 
what  hurt  himself.  And  that  there  postboy  was  not  so 
far  out,  for  if  ever  I  see  a  sword  cut " 

Pamela  interrupted  with  an  ejaculation  of  relief. 

"Sir  Jasper  is  still  in  the  Inn,  then?  And  my  Lord  too?" 

"Aye,  Miss " 

"And  the  lady?" 

"The  lady's  been  gone  this  hour,  Miss.  Oh,  aye,  she 
went  off  with  the  other  gentleman " 

"What !"  shrieked  Pamela. 

"Oh,  aye,  Miss!  The  handsome  dark  gentleman  what 
traveled  all  the  way  from  London  to  meet  her.  Last 
night,  when  he  came  riding  in,  Missis  and  all  of  us  agreed, 
we  never  saw  a  handsomer  gentleman.  'I  expect,'  says  he, 
'a  lady  by  coach  from  Weymouth.' '  She  stopped  to 
stare:  "Ben't  you  well,  Miss?" 

320 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


Pamela  had  fallen  into  a  chair.     A  cold  and  pricking 
fear  had  laid  hold  of  her.     There  are  premonitions  of  the 
heart  which  outleap  any  perception  of  the  wits. 
"His  name,  his  name!"  she  gasped. 
"Lud,  now !"    The  girl  clacked  her  tongue.    "I  did  hear 

her  call  him " 

Stay !"  cried  Pamela.     "Was  it  Bellairs?" 

"Lud,  Miss,"  cried  the  girl,  "however  did  you  know?" 
"Because,"  said  Miss  Pounce  sternly,  "I  am  the  lady  he 
came  to  meet." 

With  the  same  deadly  composure,  she  ordered  a  post- 
chaise,  and  started  once  again  in  pursuit.  This  time  she 
would  have  no  man's  help.  She  would  go  alone.  "What 
business  is  it  of  yours?"  had  cried  Lady  Selina  insolently 
last  night.  And  she  had  answered,  "It's  every  true 
woman's  business  to  keep  another  straight  if  she  can." 
But,  now  here  was  no  altruistic  interference;  here  love  and 
life  were  at  stake  for  her.  Here  was  her  own  business  and 
nobody  else's,  with  a  vengeance! 

Gone  this  hour!  Well — she  would  overtake  them  at 
Basingstoke  where  they  must  halt  of  a  certainty. 

Pamela  had  had,  in  a  little  purse  apart,  twenty  golden 
guineas,  her  own  profit  in  the  successful  week's  transac- 
tions in  modes  at  Weymouth.  She  had  meant  to  add  them 
to  the  comfortable  nest  of  savings  which  were  to  facilitate 
her  marriage  with  her  charming  spendthrift.  Now  the 
shining  company  in  the  green  silk  meshes  had  already 
dwindled ;  and  at  every  five  miles  or  so,  Pamela  would  draw 
forth  a  coin  and,  thrusting  her  pretty  head  out  of  the 
window,  would  hail  the  postboy  and  hold  it  up  to  his  sight. 

"Another  goldfinch  for  you,  my  lad,  if  you  mend 
your  speed !" 

321 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


By  the  time  they  reached  Basingstoke  there  were  four 
sovereigns  for  the  youth;  and  if  he  was  sweating,  it  was 
nothing  to  what  the  horses  were  doing.  They  dripped 
and  trembled  and  steamed,  foam-flecked  from  mane  to  tail. 
Pamela's  green  purse  was  considerably  lighter ;  but  it  had 
been  worth  it.  The  fat  dappled  grays  which  had  trotted 
off  with  my  Lady  Selina  and  Mr.  Bellairs  that  morning 
were  even  now  being  led  out  of  the  shafts.  A  comfortable 
trot  they  had  come  at,  to  judge  by  their  untroubled  ap- 
pearance. 

"Yes,  Miss,"  said  the  formidable-looking  landlady  who 
ruled  at  the  Angel,  Basingstoke,  and  who,  no  doubt,  found 
a  distinct  growth  of  beard  and  a  bass  voice  as  useful  to 
her  if  not  more  than  the  support  of  any  man,  "a  lady  and 
a  gentleman  are  partaking  of  refreshment  in  the  parlor. 
And  what  might  you  be  wanting  with  them?" 

Her  eye,  small  and  fierce  as  a  wild  boar's,  appraised 
the  new  guest  up  and  down. 

Pamela  saw  that  traveling  alone  she  was  suspected ;  she 
had  an  inspiration. 

"I  am  Lady  Selina's  own  woman,"  she  said  pertly. 
"Her  Ladyship  expects  me.  Kindly  direct  me." 

She  had  seen  too  many  lady's  maids,  not  to  be  able  to 
play  the  part :  she  was  now  the  fashionable  Abigail  to  the 
life ;  plausible,  supple,  sure  of  herself ;  her  gaze  was  chal- 
lenging; her  air  deferential  yet  on  the  verge  of  insolence. 

The  bearded  landlady  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and  told 
the  drawer  to  bring  Miss  into  Britannia. 

"You  needn't  knock,  young  man,  I  will  announce  my- 
self," said  Pamela.  She  tapped  discreetly  with  her  nails 
on  the  panel  just  beneath  the  painted  figure  with  the 
trident;  then,  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  opened  the 
door. 

322 


In  one  swift  glance  she  took  in  the  scene :  the  Mad  Brat 
did  not  seem  to  be  getting  on  any  better  with  Mr.  Bellairs 
than  she  had  with  either  her  Colonel  or  her  baronet.  She 
was  seated,  her  elbows  on  the  table,  her  chin  in  her  hand. 
With  frowning  brows,  a  fixed  and  angry  stare,  flushed 
cheeks  and  pouting  lips,  she  was  the  image  of  "Beauty  in 
a  rage."  Mr.  Bellairs  was  pacing  the  room,  with  his 
hands  behind  his  back;  and  he,  too,  the  very  incarnation 
of  bad  temper. 

The  milliner  did  not  give  herself  time  to  reflect  whether 
the  obvious  tension  betokened  good  or  evil  for  her.  She 
had  to  act. 

"If  you  please,  my  Lady,"  she  said,  advancing  as  if  she 
had  been  indeed  what  she  represented  herself,  "you  have 
forgotten  your  glove." 

"Good  heavens!"  cried  Mr.  Bellairs.     "Pamela!" 

He  wheeled  in  his  walk  to  turn  upon  the  newcomer  a 
countenance  marked  with  the  oddest  mixture  of  discom- 
fiture, amusement,  and  wrath. 

Lady  Selina  merely  cast  a  glance  from  the  glove  which 
Pamela  laid  before  her,  to  the  girl's  face  and  lifted  her 
eyebrows.  She  had  passed  from  anger  to  insolence. 
Pamela  itched  to  box  her  ears. 

"I  assure  you,  my  dear,"  protested  Mr.  Bellairs  in  an 
ill-assured  voice,  "that  /  have  forgotten  nothing." 

Pamela  understood  well  enough  the  intention  of  the 
speech;  she  smiled  scornfully.  And,  when  Lady  Selina, 
just  rolling  her  eyes  in  his  direction,  dropped  the  words: 
"Except  your  manners,  sir,"  she  felt  certain  the  rebuke 
had  been  well  deserved. 

Indeed,  now  that  she  came  to  look  at  him  more  closely, 
she  saw  a  red  patch  on  the  olive  of  his  cheek,  and  guessed 
the  offense  which  had  called  for  such  a  buffet.  Oh !  she 

323 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


knew  the  ways  of  men ;  and,  to  her  philosophy,  the  gentle- 
man who,  thrust  into  such  a  position  as  Mr.  Bellairs, 
should  have  failed  to  take  advantage  of  it,  would  have 
been  little  less  than  a  milksop.  Nevertheless,  there  had 
been  defection.  It  was  her,  Pamela,  whom  he  had  come 
to  meet — Pamela,  his  affianced,  to  whom,  because  of  the 
very  difference  in  their  stations,  he  owed  more  delicacy  of 
attention  than  if  she  had  been  his  equal.  And  he  had  let 
himself  be  whisked  away  by  the  first  wanton  who  lifted  a 
beckoning  finger !  Serves  her  right  if  he  had  kissed,  and 
serves  him  right  if  she  had  slapped!  Oh!  she  knew  the 
ways  of  men.  But — the  ways  of  "the  Mad  Brat"  were  still 
an  enigma  to  her.  What  was  this  piece  of  mischief  about? 
As  if  to  answer  the  perplexed  thought,  Lady  Selina  sud- 
denly spoke: 

"  'Tis  positive  sickening  to  think  that  there  is  not  a 
gentleman  of  the  lot  who  would  give  a  lady  his  protection 
as  far  as  town,  without  thrusting  his  odious  attentions 
on  her!" 

"But  my  dear  good  creature " 

"I'm  not  your  dear  good  creature,  sir!"  Lady  Selina 
sprang  to  her  feet  and  burst  into  a  sudden  passion  of 
tears.  "Was  ever  any  one,"  she  cried,  "so  plagued,  so 
persecuted,  so  distracted,  so  unhappy,  so — so  abandoned?" 

Pamela  again  felt  an  overwhelming  conviction  that  here 
was  one  merely  as  naughty  and  as  innocent  as  a  child. 

"Oh,  my  dear !"  she  exclaimed,  and  caught  her,  forcibly, 
into  her  own  strong  warm  arms.  There  was  more  than 
a  touch  of  the  mother  in  Pamela ;  she  never  could  bear  to 
leave  suffering  uncomforted.  "Why  in  the  name  of  God, 
did  you  leave  your  own  husband?" 

"The  Mad  Brat"  screamed  as  if  the  last  word  had  been 
a  blow. 

324 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


"Oh,  oh,  my  Fred !" 

Pamela  cast  a  look  over  the  bride's  shoulder  at  Mr. 
Bellairs. 

"There,  sir!"  she  said  severely,  "there's  for  you  and 
your  vanity !  For  you,  and  the  others,  who  are  so  ready 
to  think  that  any  lady  who  so  much  as  smiles  on  you  is 
mad  in  love  with  you ! — And  all  the  while  you're  but  the 
cat's-paw  of  her  jealousy !" 

"Pamela !"  cried  Jocelyn  Bellairs.  He  had  been  stand- 
ing, very  ill  at  ease,  struggling  with  the  variety  of  his 
emotions.  He  now  broke  into  laughter  which  had  yet 
something  of  wrath  in  it.  "I've  been  a  confounded  fool! 
And  I  swear  you  are  an  angel ! — Oh,  confusion !  I  can't 
bear  to  hear  a  woman  cry.  But  I  must  say  Joseph  him- 
self would  have  been  tempted  by  that  little  devil,  this 
morning !" 

"Hush!"  cried  the  milliner,  rocking  the  weeping  Selina 
as  if  she  were  a  baby,  but  shooting  another  glance  at 
Mr.  Bellairs  which,  after  all,  held  more  indulgence  than 
resentment.  "Hush,  sir!  Leave  me  with  her  Ladyship. 
Go  refresh  yourself  with  a  tankard  of  cool  ale  after  your 
dusty  drive — and  send  the  landlady  hither  with  the 
hartshorn." 

If  Mr.  Bellairs  had  thought  highly  of  Pamela  before, 
he  now  told  himself  she  was  the  pattern  of  true  women. 
He  paused  but  to  kiss  the  firm,  capable,  white  hand  she 
extended  to  him ;  and  then  hastily  closed  the  door  between 
himself  and  those  distressing  vapors. 

"Now,  my  dear,"  coaxed  Pamela,  "I  see  how  it  is. 
You've  had  a  quarrel  with  that  elegant  young  officer  of 
yours.  You've  had  a  quarrel,  and  you  went  off  in  a  huff 
with  that  dark,  bad,  old  Colonel " 

Lady  Selina  shuddered,  and  stamped  her  foot;  and 

325 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


inarticulately  declared  that  if  she'd  had  a  dagger  to  her 
hand,  she'd  have  stabbed  him. 

"Well,  Sir  Jasper's  done  it  for  you,  very  neat,  in  the 
leg." 

Selina  interrupted  with  another  scream. 

"Sir  Jasper?  Why,  he  was  worse!  Oh,  how  glad  I 
was  to  see  my  Lord  Kilcroney  run  him  through !" 

"I'm  sure,"  said  Pamela,  a  little  dryly,  "it  is  a  mercy, 
my  Lady,  I  came  alone  after  you  and  Mr.  Bellairs !  Mr. 
Bellairs  is  engaged  to  me,  my  Lady,  and  I  don't  seem  to 
fancy  a  hole  in  him." 

Lady  Selina  was  too  much  absorbed  in  her  own  grief  to 
have  a  thought  to  spare  for  any  such  trifles.  She  fell 
again  into  her  chair,  cast  her  arms  upon  the  table  and 
buried  her  face  on  them,  wailing,  in  an  extravagance  of 
despair,  that  her  Fred  would  never  forgive  her  and  that 
there  was  nothing  left  for  her  but  death. 

"Why,  there's  no  harm  done,"  Pamela  briskly  consoled. 
"I*m  ready  to  vouch  for  you  that  you've  traveled  with 

me,  and  slept  with  me "  she  broke  off.  Her  quick  ear 

had  caught  the  sound  of  certain  well-known  accents  in  the 
courtyard  without. 

"Glory  be  to  God !"  my  Lord  was  saying,  in  his  richest 
brogue.  "Will  any  one  catch  me  that  young  gentleman 
by  the  leg?  He's  not  safe  to  be  loose.  Trip  him  up,  I 
tell  you,  or  there'll  be  murder  done !  Come  back,  Simpson, 
you  omadhaun!" 

Pamela  made  a  spring  for  the  door;  she  had  said  that 
she  would  not  have  a  hole  made  in  her  Jocelyn:  heaven 
knew  what  catastrophe  might  not  ensue,  were  she  not  on 
the  spot  to  prevent  mischief  with  Bellairs,  apt  as  tinder, 
and  this  young  Simpson  in  his  fury!  She  went  like  the 
wind  down  the  passage,  and  across  the  bar,  towards  that 

326 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


spot  in  the  courtyard  whence  arose  sounds  of  struggle 
and  fierce  objurgation. 

She  found  a  slim  young  gentleman  in  uniform,  locked 
in  the  embrace  Lord  Kilcroney.  My  Lord  was  laugh- 
ing so  considerably  that  it  threatened  to  invalidate  his 
grip.  The  young  officer's  countenance  shocked  Pamela, 
so  disfigured  was  it  by  rage  and  jealousy. 

Even  as  she  approached  he  wrenched  himself  free  and, 
leaping  forward,  all  but  knocked  her  down  in  his  blind 
rush.  Pamela's  body,  however,  was  as  well-balanced  as 
her  mind ;  she  propped  herself  against  the  Inn  porch  and 
caught  the  outraged  young  husband  vigorously  by  the 
arm. — It  was  her  words  that  really  arrested  him. 

"You  are  looking  for  Lady  Selina,  Mr.  Simpson,  sir; 
for  your  wife?  She  is  waiting  for  you  in  the  parlor." 

He  stared  at  her,  his  lips  moving,  his  eyes  starting,  his 
whole  begrimed,  unshorn,  exhausted  countenance  stamped 
with  a  wildness  of  despair. 

"Yes,  sir,"  Pamela  slipped  her  firm  clasp  down  to  his 
shaky  ice-cold  hand;  her  voice  was  as  soothing  as  her 
touch:  "Yes,  sir,  her  Ladyship  and  I  we  came  here  to- 
gether. Her  Ladyship  was  good  enough  to  accept  my  ser- 
vices on  the  road.  I'm  traveling  back  to  business  from 
Weymouth,  it  fitted  in  nicely.  And  Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs, 
coming  to  meet  me  at  Salisbury — he  and  I  being  an  en- 
gaged couple,  if  you  will  forgive  my  being  so  personal — 
that  fitted  in  very  nicely  too,  for  he  escorted  us — Your 
Lady's  very  young  to  be  traveling  alone,  sir " 

Pamela  knew  that  there  is  no  better  defense  for  the 
guilty  than  to  reproach  the  innocent. 

"There  now,  me  boy,"  cried  Kilcroney,  taking  up  the 
cue,  "didn't  I  tell  you  it  was  the  wrong  scent  you  were 
after,  altogether?  Hadn't  ye  me  word  for  it  that  Colonel 

327 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Endacott  and  Jasper  had  fixed  up  that  little  meeting  at 
Blandford,  ever  since  the  night  of  my  Lady  Kilcroney's 
rout  at  Weymouth?  And  sure,  when  my  Lady  Selina 
walked  in  to  the  Crown  Inn,  wasn't  Miss  Pounce  behind 
her?  Miss  Pounce  will  swear  to  that.  And  I'll  lay  you 
me  oath  that  she's  speaking  truth,  since  it's  the  one  coach 
load  of  it  we  all  were." 

But  whether  or  no  these  assurances  and  plausibilities 
might  have  proved  convincing  to  the  inflamed  brain  of 
the  injured  husband,  they  were  doomed  to  failure  by  the 
action  of  "the  Mad  Brat"  herself. 

This  impetuous  young  woman  suddenly  hurled  herself 
into  their  midst  and  upon  her  husband's  breast;  tears, 
kisses,  passionate  confession  pouring  from  her. 

"Oh,  Fred,  Fred,  darling ! — Oh,  my  one  and  only  love — 
I  tried  to  run  away  from  you  and  I  couldn't!  Fred,  my 
angel,  it  was  all  that  cruel  thing — that  cruel  thing  you 
said.  Oh,  Fred,  you  do  remember?"  She  shook  him. 
"You  know  you  said  that  you  did  not  think  any  other 
man  would  be  such  a  f — f — fool — yes,  you  did — you  said 
no  other  man  would  be  such  a  f — fool  as  to  run  away 
with  me !" 

My  Lord  Kilcroney,  with  his  Lady,  and  the  other  friends 
interested  in  the  erratic  young  couple,  were  all  agreed  that 
"the  Mad  Brat"  was  well  matched  in  her  spouse.  For 
of  all  the  hot-headed,  light-witted,  frantic  fellows — these 
were  my  Lord's  own  words — he  had  ever  had  to  deal  with, 
Lieutenant  Fred  Simpson  of  the  Marines  was  the  "jewel  of 
the  lot" !  The  united  efforts  of  himself,  Squire  Day,  and 
Lord  Verney,  were  ultimately  successful,  however,  in  pre- 
venting the  series  of  duels  which  Master  Fred  at  first 
seemed  bent  on  bringing  about.  Even  Lord  Kilcroney  did 

328 


PAMELA  HOLDS  THE  REINS 


not  escape  a  challenge ;  but  on  his  representing  his  services 
on  the  Salisbury  Road,  the  affair  had  to  end  in  a  laugh. 
Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs  on  Pamela's  prompting  made  a  very 
frank  and  full  apology,  couched  in  language  so  admirably 
chosen,  that  even  the  young  Othello  had  to  be  satisfied 
with  it. 

"I  confess,"  he  said,  "that  I  was  led  away,  Mr.  Simpson. 
I  confess  that  I  lost  my  head  (and  very  nearly  my  heart). 
But  ask  yourself,  whether,  in  such  company,  an  angel 
from  heaven  might  not  have  succumbed?" 

Providence  itself  intervened  in  the  matter  of  Colonel 
Endacott,  for  this  gentleman's  wound,  whether  owing  to 
original  distemper  in  the  blood,  or  to  the  ministrations 
of  Dr.  Dawson,  became  so  inflamed  that  it  was  held  as 
more  than  doubtful  whether  that  gallant  officer  would  ever 
walk  again.  He  was  invalided  out  of  the  regiment,  thereby 
providing  at  least  one  step  for  Mr.  Simpson. 

There  only  remained  Sir  Jasper — no  easy  personage  to 
deal  with,  as  my  Lord  knew  from  long  experience.  But 
by  the  time  the  baronet's  sword  arm  had  healed,  an  excel- 
lent post  abroad  had  been  obtained  for  Mr.  Simpson ;  and 
to  the  infinite  relief  of  all  her  relations,  "the  Mad  Brat" 
and  her  spouse  carried  their  bickerings  and  reconciliations 
to  another  clime. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN  WHICH  MY  LADY  KLLCRONEY  HAS  THE  LAST  WORD 

THE  best  tempered  of  women  are  apt  to  be  a  trifle 
peevish  after  a  wedding,  especially  if  they  are  re- 
sponsible for  the  event  and  have  had  most  of  the  trouble 
of  the  bridal  preparations. 

My  Lady  Kilcroney  had  had  two  reasons  for  patronizing 
the  marriage  between  Mr.  Jocelyn  Bellairs  and  Miss 
Pamela  Pounce. 

In  the  first  place,  she  flattered  herself  that  she  had  made 
it.  It  pleased  her  sense  of  rectitude  to  know  that  it  was 
an  heroic  decision.  Jocelyn,  the  rascal,  had  gone  too  far, 
and  Pamela  was  a  first-class  good  girl.  'Twas  but 
justice. 

Then,  my  Lady  Kilcroney  was  a  woman  of  the  world, 
to  her  finger  tips.  The  alliance,  which  she  could  not  have 
prevented  if  she  would,  was  a  strange,  foolish,  unequal 
business.  To  silence  ill-natured  gossip  and  the  malicious 
tattle  of  dear,  intimate  enemies,  there  was  nothing  for  it 
but  for  her  to  take  a  firm  stand  of  championship.  'Twas 
the  only  attitude  to  insure  respect,  from  Royalty  down- 
wards. To  tell  the  truth,  Kitty  was  getting  a  bit  sick 
of  Royalty,  and  would  not  have  cared  had  she  followed 
my  Lady  Flo's  example;  but  not  upon  this  crisis.  She 
knew  how  to  take  the  Queen  by  this  time,  not  being  a  born 
fool ;  and  indeed,  had  emerged  more  triumphantly  than 
ever  from  a  situation  which  might  have  lost  her  her  place 
at  Court. 

"I  thought  of  you,  ma'am,"  she  had  said,  turning  up  her 

330 


THE  LAST  WORD 


eyes,  "how  you  would  have  wished  me  to  act,  you  that 
sets  virtue  before  everything." 

If  the  Queen  had  gathered  a  lower  opinion  of  Pamela 
Pounce's  moral  stamina  from  the  interview  than  was  justi- 
fied by  facts,  she  had  gained  a  vastly  higher  one  of  my 
Lady  Kilcroney's.  So  the  incident  was  closed  to  Kitty's 
advantage. 

And  now  Pamela  was  wed,  and  my  Lady  Kilcroney  had 
made  quite  a  droll,  pretty  feast  of  it. 

Farmer  Pounce,  in  blue  cloth  and  brass  buttons,  Mrs. 
Pounce  in  a  lovely  new  bonnet  trimmed  for  the  occasion 
by  her  daughter,  followed  by  a  rosy  progeny,  had  been 
really  such  honest,  simple  dears  that  Kitty  quite  loved 
them;  and  Pamela  (sensible,  excellent  creature  that  she 
was,  who  had  chosen  to  be  married  in  a  snowy  muslin  and 
a  white  chip)  had  looked  so  sweet  and  wholesome  and 
happy  and  withal  remained  so  respectfully  in  her  place, 
was  so  pleasantly  unassuming,  that  my  Lady  very  genu- 
inely considered  old  Bellairs'  nephew  to  be  more  lucky  than 
he  deserved. 

She  had  convened  her  special  circle  to  witness  the  cere- 
mony, which  was  performed  in  her  own  drawing-room  at 
Hertford  Street ;  not  omitting  Mistress  Lafone,  for  Kitty 
would  not  put  it  into  the  minx's  power  to  say  that  she 
was  afraid  of  her  tongue. 

There  was  a  brisk  passage  between  these  two  ladies, 
out  of  which  Kitty,  she  flattered  herself,  emerged  vic- 
torious. 

"Dear,  to  be  sure,"  had  said  Molly,  with  her  most  tart, 
sweet  air,  "how  monstrous  strange  it  will  be  to  be  order- 
ing hats  from  your  own  niece,  my  Lady  Kilcroney !" 

And  my  Lady  had  responded:  she  trusted  to  Heaven 

331 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


that  Pamela  would  be  more  particular  than  ever,  now, 
whom  she  served. 

Madame  Mirabel  had  had  the  good  sense  to  excuse  her- 
self on  the  ground  of  age  and  infirmity;  a  piece  of  tact 
which,  coupled  with  the  handsome  present  she  bestowed 
on  her  esteemed  partner,  was  as  clever  a  stroke  of  business 
as  the  astute  old  lady  had  ever  contrived. 

Miss  Clara  Smithson  and  Miss  Polly  Popple,  on  the 
other  hand,  who  were,  as  the  whole  of  the  Bond  Street  es- 
tablishment knew,  that  devoted  to  their  dear,  darling  Miss 
Pounce  that  they  were  as  glad  of  her  happiness  in  the 
depths  of  their  feeling  hearts  as  if  it  had  been  their  own, 
could  not  of  course  be  omitted  from  the  list  of  guests; 
and  indeed  it  may  be  said  that  Lydia's  only  consolation 
on  a  day,  which  was  otherwise  unmitigatedly  displeasing 
to  her,  was  the  opportunity  which  the  presence  of  these 
females  gave  her  of  discharging  her  bosom  of  some  of  its 
accumulated  gall. 

When  all  her  company  had  departed,  my  Lady  owned 
that  she  was  tired,  and  Lydia  was  very  plainly  given  to 
understand  that  she  must  not  presume  upon  a  relation- 
ship which  was,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  ridiculous. 

Lydia  had  made  herself  far  finer  than  the  bride,  and 
Kitty  thought  it  prodigious  bad  taste  in  her  to  be  so 
ruffled  and  flounced  and  panniered. 

"And  the  shade  of  lavender  you've  chosen,  Lydia,  posi- 
tive sets  my  teeth  on  edge,  and  I  should  have  thought 
you'd  have  known  better  than  to  rouge  yourself  up,  till 
any  one  would  take  my  own  woman  for  an  actress  and  a 
low  one  at  that." 

"Well,  then,  I'm  sure,  your  Ladyship,"  retorted  Lydia 
with  spirit,  "not  having  any  acquaintance  with  such  fe- 
males, save  your  Ladyship's  own  dear  friend,  my  Lady 

332 


THE  LAST  WORD 


Mandeville  (who  would  have  looked  better  for  a  bit  of 
color  to-day),  it  wouldn't  become  me  to  set  myself  up 
against  your  Ladyship's  opinion  in  the  matter;  but  con- 
sidering the  practice  I've  had  on  your  Ladyship  it's  to 
be  hoped  I'd  know  how  to  put  on  the  rouge,  if  I  don't 
show  it  off,  as  well  as  your  Ladyship,  not  being  so  full 
in  the  face.  And  I'm  sorry  your  Ladyship  ain't  satisfied 
with  the  hue  of  my  gown,  it  being  one  of  her  own  presents 
to  me,  Christmas  five  years  that  was.  And  indeed,"  went 
on  Lydia,  "I  never  could  abide  it  myself,  but  since  it  was 
when  your  Ladyship  went  sudden  out  of  mourning  for  old 
Mr.  Bellairs,  and  she  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  the 
eight  yards  of  taffety,  I  couldn't  be  so  disobliging  as  not 
to  make  the  best  of  them.  And  indeed,  considering  the 
occasion  to-day  I  thought  they  fitted  in  uncommon  apt." 

"Dear  to  be  sure!"  cried  Kitty,  sinking  into  a  chair, 
"what  a  tongue  you  have!  'Tis  to  be  hoped  it  isn't  a 
family  failing  or  else  my  poor  dear  Bellairs'  nephew, 
the  last  of  his  name,  will  have  a  sad  time  of  it." 

"Dear  to  be  sure !"  echoed  Lydia,  with  frightful  acri- 
mony, "I  could  find  it  in  my  heart  to  pity  that  pore  young 
gentleman  myself.  No  one  can  ever  say  I  wanted  that 
there  owdacious  marriage"  (which  was  certainly  true. 
Lydia  would  infinitely  have  preferred  to  see  her  niece 
bloom  unplucked  on  her  maiden  stem).  "Of  all  the  un- 
pleasant situations,  I  says,  him  to  have  a  wife  a  milliner 
as  is  born  to  another  class,  and  spend  his  days,  torn,  so 
to  speak,  between  the  high  and  the  low.  He'll  never  make 
a  fine  lady  of  Pamela,  what's  a  work-woman  in  the  bone, 
and  he  can't,"  pursued  Lydia,  moved  by  her  own  eloquence 
almost  to  tears,  "strip  his  own  gentility  off  of  himself 
like  a  coat  and  sit  as  it  were  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  common, 
for  the  rest  of  his  life." 

333 


PAMELA  POUNCE 


Seeing  angry  retort  leaping  in  her  mistress's  eye,  Lydia 
proceeded  in  a  great  hurry,  to  get  out  the  next  most  dis- 
agreeable remark  she  could  think  of:  "And  as  to  him 
being  the  last  of  his  name,  your  Ladyship  can't  go  count- 
ing on  that.  Mrs.  Jocelyn  Bellairs,"  Lydia  tittered,  "will 
have  a  long  family  like  her  mother  before  her,  and  before 
we  know  where  we  are  we'll  have  little  Bellairses  a-running 
about  all  over  the  place  like  spiders " 

She  broke  off.  Intimately  acquainted  with  her  mistress 
as  she  was,  there  were  sides  to  her  character  which  Miss 
Lydia  Pounce  had  as  yet  failed  to  grasp.  She  had 
thought  to  pay  out  my  Lady  for  her  odious  unkindness, 
but  her  shaft  had  singularly  missed  the  mark.  All  the 
ill-humor  vanished  from  Kitty  Kilcroney's  charming  coun- 
tenance. She  clasped  her  hands  with  a  genuine  cry  of 
delight. 

"Why,  Lydia,  I'll  be  godmother  to  the  first  girl,  I  will 
indeed!  It  ought  to  be  a  charming  creature,  they  so 
handsome  and  so  happy !  I'll  be  godmother,  and  'twill  be 
a  vast  of  pleasure  to  me,  child,  to  think  there'll  be  another 
Kitty  Bellairs !" 

(i) 


Novels  for  Cheerful  Entertainment 


GALUSHA  THE  MAGNIFICENT 

By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln 
Author  of  "Shavings."  "The  Portygee."  etc. 

The  whole  family  will  laugh  over  this  deliciously  humorous  novel,  that 
pictures  the  sunny  side  of  small-town  life,  and  contains  love-making, 
a  dash  of  mystery,  an  epidemic  of  spook-chasing — and  laughable, 
lovable  Galusha. 

THESE   YOUNG  REBELS 

By  Frances  R.  Sterrett 
Author  of  "  Nancy  Goes  to  Town,"  "  Up  the  Road  with  Sally,"  etc. 

A  sprightly  novel  that  hits  off  to  perfection  the  present  antagonism 
between  the  rebellious  younger  generation  and  their  disapproving  elders. 

PLAY  THE  GAME 

By  Ruth  Comfort  Mitchell 

A  happy  story  about  American  young  people.  The  appealing  qualities 
of  a  brave  young  girl  stand  out  in  the  strife  between  two  young  fellows, 
the  one  by  fair  the  other  by  foul  means,  to  win  her. 

IN  BLESSED  CYRUS 

By  Laura  E.  Richards 
Author  of  "A  Daughter  of  Jehu,"  etc. 

The  quaint,  quiet  village  of  Cyrus,  with  its  whimsical  villagers,  is  abruptly 
turned  topsy-turvy  by  the  arrival  in  its  midst  of  an  actress,  distractingly 
feminine,  Lila  Laughter;  and,  at  the  same  time,  an  epidemic  of  small-pox. 

HELEN  OF  THE  OLD  HOUSE 

By  Harold  Bell  Wright 

Wright's  greatest  novel,  that  presents  the  life  of  industry  to-day,  the 
laughter,  the  tears,  the  strivings  of  those  who  live  about  the  smoky 
chimneys  of  an  American  industrial  town. 

NEW  YORK     D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY     LONDON 

T700 


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YOUTH  TRIUMPHANT 

By  George  Gibbs 
Author  of  "Tht  Vagrant  Duke,"  "Tht  Splendid  Outcast,"  etc. 

A  mystery  follows  Patsy,  the  heroine,  from  the  days  of  her  Bowery 
tenement  childhood  to  the  later  years  when  the  comforts  and  happiness 
of  a  luxurious  home  are  hers.  Interesting  characters  participate  in  her 
colorful  adventures. 

THE   HOUSE  OF  THE   FALCON 

By  Harold  Lamb 
Author  of  "Marching  Sands" 

Kidnapped  while  visiting  India,  an  American  girl  is  the  prize  for  which 
natives  fight,  amid  the  wondrous  scenes  of  the  Vale  of  Kashmir. 

THE  UNSEEN  EAR 

By  Natalie  Sumner  Lincoln 
Author  of  '"The  Red  Seal."  "Tht  Three  Strings,"  etc. 

An  absolutely  baffling  mystery,  hinging  on  a  murder  committed  in 
Washington's  smart  set. 

THE  SAMOVAR  GIRL 

By  Frederick  Moore 
Author  of  "Sailor  Girl,"  etc. 

Seeking  revenge,  but  finding  romance,  a  young  man  returns  to  his 
native  Siberia  after  years  in  America. 

THE  INNOCENT  ADVENTURESS 

By  Mary  Hastings  Bradley 
Author  of  "The  Fortieth  Door,"  etc. 

"Most  piquant  little  love  story  of  any  recent  writing." — New  York 
Evening  World.  A  lovely  Italian  goes  adventuring  in  America,  seeking 
a  wealthy  husband. 

NEW  YORK  D.  APPLETON&  COMPANY  LONDON 

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THE  GREEN  BOUGH 

By  E.  Temple  Thurston 
Author  of  "The  City  of  Beautiful  Nonsense,"  tic. 

A  powerful  story  of  a  great  passion  and  of  a  woman  who  was  not  afraid  of 
life.  Much  interest  has  been  aroused  by  this  portrayal  of  a  woman's 
struggle  for  romance. 

THE  AGE  OF  INNOCENCE 

By  Edith  Wharton 
Author  of  "The  House  of  Mirth,"  "The  Reef,"  etc. 

The  novel  about  New  York  society  that  won  the  21,000  Pulitzer  Prize 
as  the  novel  of  the  year  best  representing  "the  highest  standard  of 
American  manners  and  manhood." 

MISS  LULU  BETT 

By  Zona  Gale 

Shows  American  life  as  it  is.  In  a  household  typical  of  every  town  in 
the  country,  Miss  Lulu  Bett,  "the  unmarried  sister"  was  the  drudge. 
Read  "Miss  Lulu  Bett"  as  a  novel  or  in  its  play  form  (winner  of  the 
21,000  Pulitzer  Prize  as  the  best  American  play  of  the  year). 

CARTER  And  Other  People 

By  Don  Marquis 
Author  of  "  Noah  an'  Jonah  an'  Caf'n  John  Smith,"  "  Eermione,"  "Prefaces,"  tic. 

Short  stories  about  subjects  ranging  from  the  tragedy  of  race  to  the 
comedy  of  a  hero  who  did  not  know  he  was  one,  each  presenting  a  vivid 
slice  of  life. 

LOW  CEILINGS 

By  W.  Douglas  Newton 
Author  of  "Green  Ladies,"  etc. 

A  young  fellow  tries  to  make  the  most  of  himself,  but  is  tied  down  by 
the  suburban  narrowness  of  his  environment.  An  interesting  plot 
shows  two  women  as  representing  the  best  and  worst  that  is  in  him. 

These  Are  Appleton  Books 

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